


Material Things

by insight_ful



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1950s, Autism, High School, M/M, POV Second Person, Period-Typical Homophobia, Slow Burn, Underage Drinking, autistic tavros, breakdowns
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-15
Updated: 2020-03-15
Packaged: 2021-02-28 20:54:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 32,254
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23153596
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/insight_ful/pseuds/insight_ful
Summary: Tavros Nitram has something wrong with him-- Not that he has the slightest clue what that may be. He's easily overwhelmed, he feels useless, he might be gay, and he doesn't know what to do about any of it. All that seems to bring him comfort is the feeling of soft, well worn leather. The kind of feeling you'd find on a loved leather jacket, or the bench seat of a nice car.Still, he finds it hard to feel that feeling often.
Relationships: Cronus Ampora/Tavros Nitram, Damara Megido/Rufioh Nitram, Eridan Ampora/Tavros Nitram
Comments: 6
Kudos: 19





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> this was written in 2016-2017 pls keep that in mind lmao

Leather. The accessory that holds the power to decide who you are. 

Who are you anyway?

You aren't quite sure.

Recently, you haven't felt like yourself. You feel like a shell, almost. Like your soul gently floated out of your drooling mouth in your sleep, never to be seen again.

Perhaps that's the case. Or perhaps you're just conflicted because of all the thought you've put into the subject.

Who are you?

Who are you, and what is your purpose? Why were you born into this small, Oklahoma town? Are you meant to follow the guidelines encouraged by your dad? Graduating with high grades and going on to become a famous veterinarian. Those plans don't really suit your interests. 

No, you have much... different tastes. You've never been a fan of falling in line with the other students at school; living out a planned life and starting a family straight out of university. As unfortunate as it may be, you don't want any of that. You prefer freedom. The kind that you see from a certain group of people. The kind of people who wear leather jackets. 

Leather is something you didn't think you'd be interested in either, but oh how wrong you were. Leather is infatuating, in its own way. The smoothness of it, despite the texture. Or the way it squeaks annoyingly when it's new, but after it's worn it loses the sound effects. The tough, shiny material becomes soft and flexible. It becomes something you could stand wearing casually. 

It's something you want.

Now, you know better than to get ahead of yourself. You couldn't pull off a leather jacket, no matter how badly you wanted to. But there was something so enticing about being wrapped up in the new, stiff scent of leather. 

There was something even more enticing about running your hands over the worn out leather on a jacket that's been left lying on the stairs in the back of the school during lunch. 

You know exactly who's jacket this is. It's impossible not to, from the scent of cologne and what you assume is seawater that it carries. This jacket belongs to someone you've been far too afraid to talk to, despite how easy it'd be to do so.

You can't. 

You aren't like him. 

Wool sweaters are not compatible with leather. They're made soft and flexible. It takes no real work to break them down and give them meaning. You don't like them, but it's what you wear. 

Wool. Of any variation, really. Sweater vests seem to be the most prevalent in your wardrobe. They're ugly. The odd patterns on them mean nothing. You wish all of the wool that you own could be given to people who need it more, so that you could trade it out for leather.

You would give anything to take home this abandoned jacket. To keep it, and wear it around the house. But you can't. It's owner would return soon enough to retrieve it, and you couldn't be sitting next to it rubbing it when he showed up. 

You stand and you leave. You get through the rest of the day with nothing exciting happening. The owner of the jacket is nowhere to be seen, so you assume he must have skipped the rest of the day. You wish you could do that. You don't have the guts. 

If you did, you would have done it a long time ago. Instead you just attend school like you're supposed to. You never miss a day, and you keep the best grades that you can. You're a good kid. Your teachers love you, and don't understand why you aren't happy with how your life is panning out.

You don't know for sure either. Well, aside from the obvious reasons. You aren't happy with who you are. You don't want to be the average student, and you don't want to be a veterinarian (though you wouldn’t mind it too much). You have no idea what you want to be, and you're fine with that, as long as it isn't either of those. You're just... tired of it. 

Being tired of something doesn't make it any easier to drop, though. You've learned that the hard way. You're tired of your plans, but you can't make new ones. You don't know where to start. 

Your brother recommended not making any. Just going with the flow as long as you can. You considered it, but it stressed you out. You can't not have plans. Plans make things easier. It lets you know what you're doing, so you don't have to spend extra time worrying about it. 

If it were that simple you'd have already made hundreds of your own plans. You'd have gone to the drive-in a dozen times over, rather than just staying at home with your dad. You could only stand so many episodes of the Twilight Zone before you started to actually get fairly confused yourself.

You find comfort in going home. You get to relax at home. Sit in your room and do your homework in silence. You get to sit with your family and listen to the radio. You get to stop caring for a few hours. 

You care too much.

Caring is something you've always done. Your dad likes to pick on you about it, saying that as a baby you wouldn't even cry in the middle of the night. He said it was like you knew he was tired, so you let him sleep. You're sure that's not what your infant mind though. You were probably just asleep yourself. No matter how much you argue about it, your dad refuses to accept it. 

You are his caring son. The son that will go on to start a family and make him proud. Your mother too, hopefully. You'd never have any confirmation of that, sadly. You've never met your mom. Your dad insists that she was a good woman, and that she loved both you and your brother. He won't tell you what happened to her. 

It's hard to care very much about that anymore, even if your dad thinks you care more than anyone else in the world. You don't. There are people much more passionate about things than you are about the topic of your mother. 

There was a brief stage where you were indeed a bit obsessed with learning about her, just for the sake of knowing. It didn't last long. There wasn't much to know. It'd been an accidental pregnancy with your brother, and yet another with you. The both of you were given to your dad when she died. That's all of the detail you were given.

Sometimes your dad thinks the reason you're so... odd, is not having a mother. You've assured him otherwise, but he doesn't seem to understand completely. 

You are not confident. That is your main issue. You are not confident in yourself, or anything you do. Well, other than the games you play with your brother. You are good at those. 

No matter how often your family tries to help you gain confidence, you can't. It's bizarre. Sometimes you wish things could be simpler and that you could be just as confident as the football players at school. It's just not that easy. You aren't sure why it isn't easy, just as you aren't sure about a lot of other things. If you knew you would fix whatever is wrong with you. Your dad didn't want to send you to a therapist about it in fear that they'd find something they didn't like and they'd sent you to an institution. 

You're glad your dad cares enough not to do that to you. You know for a fact that they'd find something they wouldn't like. Whether it be your irrational fear of heights, or the fact that you take special interest in men. With the rate that you've heard about people being discarded into asylums, you'd rather not take the chance. Your father suffices as your therapist. You don't tell him everything, but you tell him a lot. 

You confide in him more than you think is perhaps healthy, but he doesn't tell a soul. He makes you feel safe. So does your brother, but that's a different kind of safe. He has punched a kid or two for your sake, and it makes you comfortable knowing that someone is willing to stick up for you. It isn't like your dad hasn't taught you how to fight. You know plenty, you're just too afraid to use the skill you have on anyone. 

When your brother decides it's high time for you to get out of the house, you retaliate. Kindly. You deny his offer and lock yourself in your bedroom. You say you have homework to get done, knowing that you really don’t. Your brother knows too, but he doesn’t want to force you into anything you don’t want to do. He’d been reeled out by your father enough times to know better. 

When your brother asks you to help him fix his car, you politely decline. You have no interest in going outside and putting yourself in vulnerable positions just to fix a car that isn’t even yours. 

You don’t know what your problem is. A month or two ago you would have loved helping your brother with anything he could possibly ask you to. It’s like you’ve built a shell around yourself. A hard, but fragile shell. One that you’re afraid to break without really knowing why. You’re afraid to do much of anything.

You father is beginning to get worried. He’s tried to talk to you about it, but you continually deny that your behavior has changed at all. You know that it has. You feel terrible lying to your dad. You don’t know what to do. 

When you have a full blown meltdown in the middle of your dining room after your brother accidentally scraped his fork across his plate, your dad knew something had to be done. He had no idea what, but even you know things were going downhill. Holding your hands over your ears and breaking down into tears on a tile floor isn’t something a normal student should be doing. Kicking and screaming at your dad when he tries to help you isn’t something anyone should be doing. Sprinting out of the room and locking yourself in the bathroom, reducing your dad to tears, and making your brother take the responsibility of being the “man” of the house isn’t right.

Your fear has gotten out of hand. Your protective shell has managed to grow and shatter all at the same time. You have no idea what is wrong with yourself. You’re scared of whatever it is. 

It isn’t until you leave your hiding place in the bathroom that you see the mess you’ve made. Roles are reversed. Your brother is comforting your dad, and you are standing off to the side watching. Things are all wrong. You apologize. 

You are forgiven.

***

Faux leather is something you find yourself sitting on in the local bowling alley. Your hand occupies the seat next to you, repeatedly rubbing small circles into it with your hand. You aren’t sure you like faux leather. It isn’t the same. This particular piece of it is made of a shiny, bright red, material. It’s worn out, but not in the right ways. It’s worn from people getting in and out of the seat, not paying a bit of attention to what they were actually sitting on. This leather holds no feeling. 

This leather, as you do, feels numb. 

Numb, you’ve found, is an uncomfortable thing to feel.

Honestly, you aren’t sure why you’re feeling it at all. You don’t know what caused your typically bubbly personality to go down the drain. You’re beginning to think you may have scrubbed it off in the shower the last time you cleaned a blue slurpee off of your skin. Maybe you rubbed at your stained arms a little too hard.

Perhaps it splattered onto the floor when you were tripped while walking to the front of the classroom.

You don’t know. 

What you do know is that the faux leather under your skin isn’t something you like, but you also know it’s all you have right now. Your brother is too busy flirting with the cute Japanese girl that recently moved to your school. Showing her the “right” way to roll a bowling ball, his charming grin gracing his features as it always did.

You wish you were more like your brother. The leather he wears is real. It’s got ripped off sleeves, and it feels amazing. He won’t stay still long enough for you to feel it. You’re stuck with the ugly, faux leather seat next to you. 

You suppose that you can only get away with staying stuffed away in your bedroom for so many weekends in a row before you’re forced out of the house, backed up by claims of “oh, it’ll be good for you” or “you can’t stay inside for the rest of your life”.

Though you may not be smart, you are not that stupid. You are aware that it was not good for you, but sitting alone in a bowling alley isn’t good for you either. The near constant sound of sixteen pound balls of plastic hitting a wooden floor and rolling around is not good for you. The sound of pins being knocked over and strewn all over the place is not good for you. The same goes for the neon lights adorning the walls, or the loud chattering from other nearby lanes, or maybe even the people running around behind you, occasionally brushing up against the back of your head and making you jump. Nothing here is good for you. 

You’re stressed out, and the faux leather is not offering any comfort. Your mind can’t decide on a single thing to focus on, no matter how hard you try to hone in on the too-smooth feel of the fake material under your hand. Your eyes keep snapping around, though once you look at something it’s almost like nothing else exists. 

The ball your brother just threw thumps to the ground, the sound magnified to your ears. It’s glittery surface rolls down the lane, creating a near thunderous sound effect. 

You nearly scream when your hand is lifted from the faux leather and placed between two smaller, softer ones. When you snap back to the real world everything just seems like too much. There’s a girl standing in front of you. You recognize her as the sister of… you forgot her name. The girl that your brother is out on a date with. This is her sister. You don’t know why she is holding your hand like she is, or why she is sitting down next to you.

All that you know is that her skin is not as numb as the fake leather. You still do not like it any more. You stare at her. At the bridge of her nose. You think she knows you’re avoiding her eyes. She removes one of her smaller hands and waves it in front of her face. She’s smiling.

You don’t know what she wants. 

You desperately want to know.

Her smile tells you her name, but your ears don’t pick it up. Her hand on your face tells you that she’s trying to get your attention, but you don’t feel it. 

You suck in a deep breath, and it comes out shaky. You try again, and it turns out no better. She looks a bit confused. You think it might be because of your watering eyes, or the way you’re breathing. You don’t know why someone trying to be kind is having such an effect on you. Or maybe it isn’t that he’s trying to be kind. Maybe it’s that someone is trying to talk to you. 

Before you can come to a conclusion about the root of your problem, your brother takes notice. You love your brother. You love the way he takes time away from his date to help you, and how he gives you his sleeveless jacket when you latch onto the edge of it before he has a chance to walk away. You love the way that he explains to the girl that you’ve been having some issues lately, and that she’s more than welcome to keep you company, but to move a little more slowly into making your acquaintance

He loves you too. You’re pretty sure the girl makes a comment about that after he went back to his date. She might have complimented your hair, but you aren’t sure. 

You’re busy draping the homemade vest over your legs and smoothing it out. It brings you relief. You know how much love has seeped into the leather, and just how often it’s been worn. It amazes you how such a simple article of clothing can bring you so much comfort. But after some time staying silent and running your hands over the back of it, you find yourself conversing with the girl.

Aradia. That’s her name. She’s sorry for scaring you, and she just wants to be your friend. You tell her that sounds like a nice idea.

Her sister’s name is Damara. They live with their mother. Their father is currently still in the army, having joined during the World War. You apologize. She tells you that you have no reason to be doing so.

You apologize for apologizing. She laughs at you. She then has to apologize and explain that she just found it funny. She was not trying to make fun of you. 

You find that you like having a friend. You tell her about the games you play with your brother, and she said that she would definitely be embarrassing him with that information. You find yourself laughing for once too. You aren’t so sure you feel completely numb. When she asks you about why you were scared, you have to answer with a simple “I don’t know.”

You don’t have a reason, and you aren’t sure that you ever will. You don’t care about that right now, though. Right now you are only focused on the leather hanging over your knees, and the girl in the seat next to you. She’s nicer than you originally thought she would be. She makes you happy. Not in the way the guy that winks at you from the next lane over seems to think, though. No, she’s just a good person. 

You learn that she has an odd interest in ghosts, that she can eat cereal with chopsticks, and that her favorite musician is Fats Domino. She tells you that he has a song about himself that’s just titled “The Fat Man”, and she makes you laugh. 

You don’t notice your brother smiling and pointing the two of you out to his date, but if you had you would probably stick your tongue out at him. You love him too much to do anything else. He means well.

On the way home he asks you if you had fun. You tell him that you did if the hug that he gives you tells you anything, it’s that he did too. And also that he loves you, and is happy that you’re happy. 

Your dad does the same thing after you get home and tell him about your time. You are sent to bed happy, you fall asleep happy, you dream happy, and you wake up… still mostly happy. For the first time in awhile, you’re having a good weekend. A really good weekend. You ate breakfast with your family, and caught up on the episodes of The Twilight Zone that you’ve been missing with your father. He is beyond happy to watch episodes that he’s already seen, so long as you were in a good mood. 

You help your brother fix his car over the weekend.


	2. Chapter 2

Leather is something that your dad gets you for your seventeenth birthday. A new, smooth, squeaky leather jacket. You don’t want to wear it. Not only would it not match the rest of your clothes, but it also held no feelings yet. Well, aside from the love from your father getting it for you. 

You know that there is no way to wear it out right now. It’s the middle of May, and it’s too warm to wear it outside. You don’t want to rip the sleeves out of your like your brother did. If they come off, you want it to be because of how much you wore it. 

You spend a good hour sitting on the couch and thanking your father, holding the jacket to your chest like girls you've seen at school do with their books. You feel childish, but you are happy. When your dad finally has to leave to go to work, you waste no time sitting around. You go straight to the phone in the kitchen and call Aradia. Or- you call the operator, and are then connected to Aradia.

In the short time that has passed you must admit that you've grown to love her. Not in the romantic sense of love. She's like your sister. Maybe even your makeshift mother. She's helped you clean up in the school bathrooms after slurpee incidents, and she's been willing to listen to you talk whenever you want. 

You're pretty sure your dad thinks you have a crush on her. He is severely mistaken. No, even though nearly half of a year has passed, you're still a little unhealthy obsessed with a boy. 

It’s scary to admit, even if it's just to yourself. But you are indeed crushing incredibly hard on a boy you've never even talked to. The scariest part is probably just that he's a boy. That sort of thing is looked down upon. As if you hadn't gotten called enough names already, adding extra ones about homosexuality would not help the situation. 

Not even your dad knows about that, despite the amount of information that pours out of your mouth and straight into his hands on the daily. The man knows about the first time you got an erection, for fucks sake. But he doesn't know about the whole “gay” thing. You don't have plans to tell him anytime soon either. It's too embarrassing. You don't think he'd outright be mad at you, but you can't help not telling him. The thought of him being disappointed in you is scary. 

From what you can recall, he's never had anything bad to say about anything that would be considered gay. That doesn't mean he doesn't think badly of it, though. Just because he's always taught you and your brother to be kind to everyone, doesn't mean he wasn't raised under a different mindset himself. You've never met your grandparents, so you really have no idea.

You've found that you're easily sidetracked recently, and you seem to remember that when Aradia starts saying your name to make sure you're still on the line. You are, you assure her. 

She starts talking about her gift for your birthday. She won't reveal to you what she got, but she says that she thinks you'll love it.

You do love it. It's more accurate to say “them”, though, because her gift to you is a brand new pair of Chuck Taylor basketball shoes. You don't play basketball, but you're sure you know why she got them for you. In the short time you've known her, you think she may have figured out that you admire the looks of certain students. Specifically the kind that wear leather jackets. 

Whether she spoke with your brother about what your dad got you is unknown, but you find it oddly coincidental that you're getting a new wardrobe of exactly the style you want. 

You think your brother’s gift to you may be what surprises you most. You don't know why it surprises you at all, honestly, but it does. He just… takes you out. He takes you out to the malt shop downtown and just hangs out with you. He points out cute girls every so often, and you agree that they are cute, but you don't see it in the same light that he does. 

They are pretty. Their hair, all the way down to how they cross their legs when they sit. There's something to admire in the way they hold themselves, and how much effort some of them put into getting ready. You love girls, but not like your brother does. 

You don't mind that he points them out or expects you to think the same way that he does. You haven't given him any reason not to. You love hanging out with him and having a good time. The rock and roll playing over the speakers just loud enough to dance to, if you wanted. It isn't overwhelming, and you are thankful for that. You think your brother figured out that loud places aren't the best for you. 

Loud is like a teacher watching you do math over your shoulder, making you uncomfortable. Loud, in general, is too much. You find that you much prefer quiet. 

You can deal with an average amount of noise, but anything above what would be appropriate in your high school's gym is getting a little out of hand. The bowling alley was a special case, back when that happened. You assume that it was because you hadn't been anywhere other than home and school in so long that everything going on overloaded you. You aren't quite sure how that works, but it is your best guess regardless. 

The milkshakes and burgers served to you taste good enough that you forget about the music droning on in the background. Taste overpowering sound. 

The way your brain works will never cease to amaze you.

It is still, however, not something you're willing to have looked at. It is still too risky to go to a professional, as sad a thought as that is. The people you're supposed to be able to trust are the ones you trust the least, excluding those you're truly close to. 

You trust your family and close friends, but that is about the extent of it. You don't even trust the boy you think about so often. Or his brother, who's walking into the malt shop as you take a too-big bite of your burger. You think your brothers panicked expression is there because you nearly choked. Of course, the boy was behind his brother. Walking in like he owned the place, despite being fairly small. The way he held himself just… wow. You forget about the burger held between your hands temporarily. Your eyes hone in on the way his hips sway just ever so slightly when he walks, and how the lighter part of his brown hair bounces a bit with every step. 

You've always wondered if his hair naturally grows lighter there, or if he dyes it. You've never been brave enough to ask.

The perfect, almond shaped eyes under those black glasses of his flick around. The way he does it reminds you of a cat. It's as if he's looking for his prey, or just the next thing to chase after. When they go anywhere near where you and your brother are sitting, you look away. Apparently, Rufioh had followed your eyes. 

He turned around in his seat, facing you. His thumb pointed over his shoulder in the direction of the brothers.

“They pick on you?”

You hurriedly explain to him that, no, they do not. Some of their friends have before, but never those two specifically. He gives you an unsure look, but does nothing. He trusts you, just as you trust him

You love your brother. You especially love the way that he doesn't question you about the problem any more. The way he shrugs his shoulders and takes a bite of his own burger, just as big as the one you'd taken of yours is just so familiar. You've known your brother since you were brought into the world, and he's present in the first moments of your life that you can actually remember. He's been with you from the start, and he loves you. You have the ideal sibling relationship. The only way you could be better brothers is if your father had taught you some manners when you were younger. The two of you have absolutely none now.

It's obvious by likely disgusting, and loud burp that rips from your brother’s lips. Followed by his laughing, as well as yours. It earns you a few stares from girls at nearby booths, and even a guy or two, but you don't notice. Neither does the man you've gotten a little too interested in. You're glad for that, even if you don't realize that he didn't take notice. Once you do realize that he could've, you shut up. But he's too busy ordering his food at the bar.

He's standing between chairs instead of sitting, his hip popped out to the side just enough that it's noticeable if you pay attention. One of his legs is crossed in front of the other, the toe of his shoe pointed down on the checker tiled floor. 

You like the way he holds himself. Both he and his brother have a sense of pride, and they show it outwardly. It's, dare you say, beautiful.

Your brother can tell where you're looking again once you tune out, but he says nothing. You're sure that he's thinking about it, and maybe he's coming to the conclusion that you just like their jackets. That isn't too far off, their jackets are perfect. The zig-zags sewn onto the backs of them stand out against the worn leather in just the right way, catching your attention. From what you understand, it's the symbol associated with their “gang”. There's a few people in it, but not many. The Makaras are both involved, you think. You don't know the others. 

When your brother asks you if you're finished, you chug what's left of your milkshake and nod. 

You catch the brother’s eye as you're leaving.

***

Leather is, unfortunately, not something that you can always be fond of.

The heat that the seats in your brother's car radiates as you climb into it is uncomfortable. Some leather, you find, is not good. The seats are usually fine, but in the middle of August when the temperature has still not fallen to anything comfortable, they are not. The seatbelt burns your hands when you pull it across your lap, but you deal with it. You would rather not go flying out of the car if something were to happen. 

Nothing happens.

It is just your normal trip to school. However, this is the first day of your senior year, and your brother will not be attending with you. He's worried, you can tell. The way he stopped on the corner and looks over at you makes it obvious. The way he tells you he loves you, hugs you, and wishes you luck just make it all the more obvious. You're worried too. Not much has changed since the last school year. Your skin is darker, and you helped your brother with his car enough that you gained just a little bit more muscle, but you didn't grow. You were already tall, so you're happy that didn't happen. Being any taller would just give people more reasons to make fun of you. 

He doesn't pull away when you get out of the car. He watches you walk, swinging your backpack onto your shoulders as you approach the schoolyard. He doesn't pull off as you walk up the stairs, but he finally does after you enter the building. He can't do much in the way of helping you once you're inside. 

Nothing eventful happens. You go to your locker, put things away, and then head to the office. You have to pick up your schedule. It take a moment of searching, but the secretary eventually finds “Nitram” among the files, and hands you a bright white piece of paper. It's got everything that you need on it. The locker number and combination that you already have memorized from the year before, the list of your new classes, the room numbers, and the teachers. You have awhile before the first classes of the day start, so you decide to wander the halls for a moment.

In retrospect, that is a terrible idea. You basically open yourself up to bullying the longer you're in the hallways. 

One thing you've never quite figured out is why other students find so much joy in picking on you specifically. Your brother tells you that it has nothing to do with your looks, and you have to trust him. It doesn't matter how much you think you look bad, your brother is a trustworthy source, so you must look at least kind of alright. 

Sometimes you think it's because you aren't very smart. But from what you've heard, some of the people that pick on you aren't smart either. Regardless, you don't know the source of the problem. If you did, you would have fixed it by now. 

You find yourself turning around to go back towards your locker soon after realizing the mistake you'd made. You don't get very far. A familiar, leather clad hand stops you. Grabbing you by the collar, and turning you around with a little more force than is probably needed. Your eyes are met with the chest of a football player. Not because he's taller than you, but because you're eyes are blown wide and avoiding his face. He is actually an inch or two shorter than you. Next to him is a girl you've been scared of since the first grade. She pushed you off of the slide in the school’s playground, breaking your leg. She laughed.

You're more scared of her than you are of the man in front of you, even though he could kick your ass into nothing but a pile of dust if he wanted. He's the type of guy that's naturally strong, but still works of daily. You've seen him rip a locker door off of its hinges before just to hit someone over the head with it. 

Unsurprisingly, both of them have blue slurpees. You wonder if they got them just to dump them on you, because neither of them have straws. 

You're far too out of it to hear the racist remark that the guy makes, or the laugh that it pulls from the girl’s mouth. You're focused on the uneven way the male’s chest rises and falls when he breathes, and how his letterman jacket is pushed behind one hip, but not the other. Or even how one of his leather gloves has almost worn through to show the knuckle of his middle finger. You don't even know why he wears those gloves. He's just a football player, after all. They're biker gloves, and you know that the only bike he owns is a bicycle from middle school. 

Apparently, the thought managed to slip between your lips. You don't get a chance to see the expression on his face before cold, blue slush is being flung at you, followed by another wave of it less than a second afterwards. One hit you directly in the face, and the other a little off to the side of your chest. Your eyes are squeezed shut, but that just makes the nearly piercing screech of “Zahhak” that comes from behind you even louder. 

You know that voice. It's the voice of someone who wears leather and has thick rimmed glasses. You barely managed to wipe the slush away from your eyes in time to see him step in front of you, swiping his hair back. It seems that he just so happened to be in the path of the slush that missed you, because some falls from his fingers when they move away from his hair. Something else is yelled, and a sharp kick is delivered to the center of the Zahhak’s shin. 

The kick didn't seem to do much damage other than a flinch, but things seem to move in slow motion from then on. A leather clad fist is raised and clenched. You can hear the girl laughing off to the side, and Zahhak saying something that you don't quite understand. His fist is thrown directly into the face of the boy in front of you, sending him flying backwards right into your chest. 

Reflexively, your arms wrap around him. You caught him, though even if you hadn't done anything he wouldn't have hit the floor. He'd just have hit you. Things speed back up, and you don't have the slightest clue of what comes over you as you push the boy off to the side and throw your own fist at Zahhak. He doesn't have time to react before you make contact with his already crooked nose, and you feel it crack under the pressure. He also doesn't have time to reply before both of you are sent to the floor. Him because of being punched so suddenly, and you because of the force you put behind it. Regardless, as slurpee drips off of your face and onto his, you get in a few more good punches. 

You don't hear the girl screaming at him to fight back, and you don't think he does either. You aren't even sure if he's conscious anymore. 

Before long you feel two sets of hands grabbing at your arms and shoulders, pulling you off of the man below you. As you stumble to your feet, you miss the look that the boy in the leather jacket is giving you. You wouldn't know what to classify it as even if you had seen it. Maybe somewhere between amazed and scared, if anything. 

You don't remember much of anything that happens between being pulled to your feet and finding yourself sitting in the principal's office. The secretary that gave you your schedule earlier is cleaning you off, upon seeing that you were practically unresponsive and wouldn't do it yourself. The pile of tissues she's already accumulated on the corner of the wooden desk in front of you is stained blue, and quite impressive. 

Your father has been called, you're told, and he's en route to pick you up. The school as no interest in getting the police involved, with the amount of fights that go on. So, they're just suspending you for a few days, and then you'll come back to school with no consequences. 

That is a lie. You know that there will be consequences. Maybe not with the police or school system itself, but with other students. You're sure word has already spread. There were other people in the hallway, and they saw exactly what happened. The truth will probably be warped, and you're afraid to hear the results of it going through the entire school. You're scared of how people will treat you. Hopefully, they'll treat you with more respect. That doesn't alter the fact that you will be flooded with attention that you really do not want. 

There is no good way to describe the level of anxiety that you feel right now.


	3. Chapter 3

Vinyl is much different than leather. Despite all of the similarities between the two, you do not like vinyl. It is man made, unlike leather. Vinyl held no life before becoming what it is, and therefore it holds less feeling. 

The seats in your father's car are covered in vinyl, used to replicate leather. The easiest way to differentiate between the two is the smell. Vinyl smells more like plastic, and leather has a scent of its own. The scent can only be identified as leather, and unlike vinyl, it's something you'd like to be wrapped up in. You love the smell of leather. You don't like the idea of animals being killed to make it, but you can't help but like the product.

To your surprise, your dad is not disappointed in you. He's proud. You explain to him that he shouldn't be, but he still is. He tells you that he's proud that you finally stood up for yourself, even if it meant knocking someone unconscious. 

He starts the shower for you once you arrive home, telling you to get cleaned up and relax. You do as he says. The sight of melted, blue slushee is something you've become all too familiar with. The way that it streams out of your hair with the hot water of the shower, creating a baby blue pool around the drain in the bottom of the tub is something you've seen more often than you'd like to admit. Not since last school year, but you saw it plenty then. You don't expect that you'll have to worry about it much after the events of today. 

The faded blue pool eventually turns into a transparent one, all of the excess blue liquid having run off of your body. That only left the stains. They wouldn't stay long, a few days at most. Some of them you could just scrub off with the right amount of soap. 

Speaking of soap, what's left of your bar isn't enough to properly wash yourself. You end up breaking it halfway up your arm. The little chunks of soap falling to the porcelain floor below you seems wasteful, and it bothers you, but you do nothing. There isn't much you can do with tiny pieces of soap anyway. You borrow your brother's to wash what's left of your body. You'll have to repay him later, probably with more soap.

You're sure you have the money to buy some somewhere around the house. The location is a mystery, but it's around. A bar of soap only costs, what, ten cents? You have enough for that. You thought about exchanging your change jar soon anyway.

By the time you get out of the shower the bathroom is full of steam. You have to wipe off a space in the mirror so that you can see. You don't look very happy. It's understandable, really. You just beat someone up. You can’t say that you know why you did it. Something about being coated in cold, sticky slurpee, and then seeing someone get punched just set you off. You think it may just be because of who it was. The boy with glasses and a leather jacket. You’re almost afraid to even think of his name, knowing that you won’t be able to stop. 

Eridan. 

You can’t help yourself. His name is perfect. It has the potential to sound sharp and intimidating, but to you it sounds… soft. The three syllable word sounds amazing when said the right way. The first sounding like “air”. It seems accurate to you. Despite the strong presence he upholds, you see things differently. The way he moves is so graceful that it reminds you of someone floating through the air, and therefore, the beginning of his name is fitting.

The next part can be said in a few different ways. It feels more natural to say “ree”, though you’re pretty sure it’s just supposed to be “ee”. You don’t have an exact reason for liking the middle of his name. It does sound nice, but you have yet to relate it to anything specific. The last one, however, you do have meaning for. “Dan”. It’s a name in and of itself, but it is so much more when attached to the end of “Eri”. It’s the part that has potential to come out sharp. The letter D is the first sound to make you touch your tongue to the roof of your mouth. It is the letter that will show the most anger. The letter A is the letter that will be whined if upset. It could also be the point where your voice cracks if crying. 

The N doesn’t hold much. It’s just the conclusion. The ending of a name, but something you’ve but far too much thought into. Eridan is a name you’re all too familiar with. Something you’ve probably become almost obsessive over. 

The first thing you found about it was an accident. While flipping through a history book during class the word “Eridanos” caught your eye. In Greek myth it’s a river that was supposedly poured onto the Earth by Aquarius. Learning that jump-started your interest in his name, and led to you search for more about it. 

In your search, you found that there is a star named “Eridana”, a constellation called “Eridanus”, a star in the constellation called “Eridani”, and a supernova called the Eridanus Supervoid. You find it interesting that so many things share that name, and you wonder if Eridan isn’t his full name. 

You have yet to look into his last name, but you think Ampora is a very pretty word regardless. 

The knock on the bathroom door is what pulls you out of your thoughts, and you find that you’d been staring at yourself in the mirror the whole time. It had fogged back up, though. Your dad asks you if you’re okay, and you mumble out a response to let him know that you are. He lets you know that he has to head to work, and you hum in response. 

You don’t leave the bathroom until you hear the front door close, signalling your father’s departure. With a towel wrapped around your waist, you go to your room. You decide that since you’re staying home, you do not need to put on anything that looks nice. You don a white t-shirt and blue- no- red pajama pants. You don’t feel like being blue right now. 

You settle onto the couch in your living room, the television still turned on and tuned to CBS. There was a news broadcast playing, and you watched absentmindedly, tracing a finger up the stripes on your pajamas. They seem to be speaking about Martin Luther King Jr. A bus boycott, or something along those lines. You aren’t sure what happened to start it, but it seems to be important. Too bad you don’t ride a bus, or maybe you would boycott one too. Racism isn’t something you’re very happy with, but you’re lucky to even attend a school with other races, so you can’t complain all that much.

Spaniards don’t have it that bad. 

You just have the inconvenience of attending school with someone who is racist towards nearly everyone. Hence the slurpee assaults, and the fight today. There are more reasons than just racism, but you choose not to think about those too much.

You find yourself laying down on the couch, pulling a blanket down from the back of it. You’re tired, and you’d rather escape into the emptiness that is sleep than allow yourself to keep thinking and making yourself sad. You stare at the television, eyes refusing to stay closed. The speech being broadcasted goes unheard as you stare ahead at the way the speaker uses hand gestures. He seems peaceful, but somehow authoritative at the same time. It reminds you of your dad. 

You don’t know exactly when, but you eventually drift off. As usual, you don’t snore, but you drool. Your brother will probably laugh about it whenever he arrives home from wherever he’s gone off to. He’s probably with his friends somewhere, or maybe Damara. She’s graduated by now too. It makes you sad to know that two out of three people that you trusted at school have moved on. However, you know there’s nothing you can do about it. They have to live their lives just as you’d like to one day.

You sleep on a vinyl covered couch, but in sleep the differences don’t seem to matter. 

***

Nylon carpet beneath your bare feet provides very little warmth as you scoot across your living room. It’s not soft, and it doesn’t provide any pleasant feelings. Carpet is itchy and stiff, and you prefer tile. Tile is cold and hard, but it is more comfortable than nylon. 

You take refuge on the tile floors of your kitchen as soon as your legs allow you to pass through the doorway. The cold surface sends a chill up your spine. It is not an enjoyable chill, but it is better than anything a nylon carpet could give you. You have been padding around your home barefoot for nearly a week, and you’ve become almost uncomfortably familiar with how the flooring feels in various rooms. There’s nothing really wrong with that, you suppose, but it is odd knowing that you could probably identify what room you’re in by the way the floor feels alone.

Aradia has visited you once, bringing along schoolwork and papers that needed to be signed by your dad. You haven’t gotten around to the actual work yet. You don’t have the drive to actually do it. You looked at your English assignment, but haven’t given anything else the slightest glance. Something tells you that this year isn’t going to be very much fun. 

If the way that your first day went is any indication, it won’t be fun at all. It probably won’t even be slightly enjoyable. The thought makes you frown, but you continue on through your plans of getting a bowl of cereal to eat. It’s far past breakfast time, but as it has been every other day through the week, nobody else is home. You don’t think your dad would appreciate you accidentally using the food supplies that he is probably saving for dinner, so you don’t want to prepare an actual meal. Cereal is plenty to hold you over until he arrives home. 

You reach to the top of your white refrigerator, pulling down the first box you feel. Sugar Smacks. Toasted puffs of wheat, coated in a thick layer of sugar. You figure you could use the small amount of energy that much sugar is bound to give you. Though, the happy clown on the front of the box has always unsettled you. The food inside is good, and you can’t really judge someone for deciding to be a clown that models for cereal boxes. At least they are making money.

The box is placed lightly onto the light red countertop that encircles your kitchen. You don’t like the pattern on it. Small, boomerang shaped outlines. They all overlap each other, and they’re all various shades and tints of red. If you stare at it for too long you start to feel a little lightheaded, so you usually try to ignore it. You do just that, reaching up to open a creaky, white cabinet. You’re careful when you pull out a white, glass bowl. You aren’t good with glass. You’ve broken more cups than you’d like to admit.

You’re not surprised to find that the bowl, despite being washed, is not completely clean. Your brother must have done the dishes whenever it was last washed. Or maybe it was you. It’s impossible to tell at this point. You’ve been slacking on your chores just as much as he has.

You gently place the bowl into the sink, using both hands to deposit it on top of a stack of three plates from breakfast. You move on, finding a clean bowl. The one you decide on is no less breakable, but has a handle on the side. That’s sure to prevent you from dropping it. You’re pretty sure it’s meant to hold soup, but cereal is close enough. Just replace the liquid part with milk, and whatever is added with cereal. You think about that for a minute longer than you should, standing and staring off into space as you hold the bowl. The birds chirping outside of the house catch your attention, and you realize where you are.

You are in your kitchen, trying to make yourself food. You glance behind you at the clock hanging on the wall. It’s been ten minutes. You spent ten minutes not actually putting cereal in a bowl. You are disappointed in yourself. Shaking the thought out of your head, you place the bowl on the counter. Moving onto the box, you realize that it is new. You peel up the tab on the front slowly, trying your hardest not to rip it. You do anyway. You sigh, giving up on being careful with such a flimsy piece of cardboard. You rip the top of the box open with more force than what is needed. 

The bag inside is also ripped open, and soon enough you are pouring a generous amount of cereal into your bowl. A small amount of sugar dust rises into the air and straight into your face. You make the mistake of breathing in right at that moment, and are rewarded with a small coughing fit. 

After recovering, you guess it could have been worse. It could’ve been flour you inhaled, but you don’t see why that would be on cereal. You wrinkle your nose as you place the box back onto the top of the refrigerator, opening it up afterwards to grab one of the glass milk bottles that had been delivered to your front door before you awoke. You twist off the lid, laying it on the counter so you can hold the bottle with two hands to pour it. Your father told you to do so. You don’t want to break anything, which you seem to have a habit of doing. 

Once a proper amount of milk is in your bowl you put the milk back where you got it from. You take the bowl, one hand through the handle on the side, and head out of the kitchen. Between feeling the tile under your feet and the cool bowl between your hands, you almost forget to grab a spoon. You’re quick to backtrack and get one, placing it in your bowl for easy transport. It slides around the edges of the bowl as you begin walking again, creating a god awful noise that has you scrunching your nose. After a few steps you just have to stop and take the spoon out, carrying it in your mouth instead. The noise was too much.

For the second time today you find yourself on the vinyl couch in your living room. One of your legs is tucked under the other, which hangs loosely off of the cushion you're seated on. You hold the bowl close to your face, pulling the spoon from your mouth so that you can eat. 

The taste of the cereal is almost too sweet, but it reminds you of the first time you had it. You can't remember what year it was, but you were younger. It had just been released, and your dad bought it for you to try. You were a picky child, and were very sensitive about what you ate. You've improved since then, but you used to have specific requirements. This cereal was the only kind that your father could find that who I would eat. You've forgotten why, but from what your dad says it was something to do with the coating. 

Today, you have not turned on the television. When your dad left things felt very loud, and you aren't sure why. You think he might have closed the door too hard, or he got too close to your ear when he hugged and wished you goodbye. Either way, you felt that things needed to be quieter. 

You stare ahead at the black television screen as if there's actually something playing there. It stays just as black as ever, and you don't know what you expect to get out of staring at it. Nothing, probably. Lately you've grown more and more accustomed to expecting nothing. Your life isn't exciting enough to warrant expecting anything good. You sometimes wonder what the hell happened to you to make you who you are.

But then again, you still have yet to figure out who you are anyway.

Sure, you are Tavros Nitram. A senior in high school, usually maintaining a B or C average. You were born in Spain, and you're seventeen years old. You know all of that, but it doesn't reflect who you are internally. That's the part that you're unsure of. You're unsure of who you are, and who you want to be.

Well, you have a few ideas of who you want to be, but you can't see those ever happening. 

Talking to a boy that you're pretty sure you threw into a wall of lockers isn't very high on your to-do list. Neither is going back to school. That is something you'll have to do at some point, even if you don't want to. From what Aradia told you, you're the talk of the school. Everyone is wondering how a “geek” like you managed to kick the quarterback’s ass. You don't know, nor do you want to have everyone ask you that when you return to school. 

Your answer will most likely be full of uncomfortable shifting and unsure noises. You'll probably eventually get something out, and what you say will spread like wildfire throughout the school. You've been thinking about that all week, trying to perfect your answer. You think something along the lines of “I got tired of being picked on” will work. You just hope you will actually be able to get that out when the time comes.

You only have two days left to prepare, but right now the nylon carpet beneath your foot is distracting you from that thought.


	4. Chapter 4

Cotton hugs your shoulders nicely as you enter the school building. The white t-shirt you wear is surprisingly fitting, and you aren’t sure if you like it. Today, you decided to finally wear your leather jacket. The air has cooled enough to allow it, so you take advantage of the opportunity. It’s not worn, but you wore it around the house when you first got it, so it’s not terribly squeaky anymore. 

You come into school late, waiting until you know the first class of the day is in session. You don’t want to deal with going through the halls when they’re full of curious students with free time. You head to the main office, letting them know that you are present. You’re greeted with a smile from the secretary, but you can’t tell if it’s genuine or just part of her job. She gives you a pass, and you’re allowed to head to class.

Your canvas shoes make no sound against the clean, white tile that lines the hallways. You’re glad for that. It’s the only calming thing going on right now. You’re honestly terrified. Your entire grade is in one classroom, and you’re going to walk in late. All eyes are going to be on you. You think you’d prefer to die than go into the classroom. But the door slowly gets closer regardless, and you know you can’t just die over something like this. 

With a notebook and pencil in hand, you knock on the door. They had to start locking them after an incident that happened before you attended the school. A few seconds pass before the teacher opens the door. You vaguely recognize her as an English teacher. You’re terrible at English. She smiles at you and steps out of the way of the door, letting you step inside. You keep your head low, but you can still feel eyes on you. Studying you like the frog you’re sure to dissect later in the year. You’re tense, and almost don’t notice when you’re handed a textbook. You tuck it under your arm with your notebook, and you’re pointed in the direction of a seat. Not next to anyone you specifically want to avoid, thankfully.

You slide into the wooden chair, which is attached to a desk. You place your things down gently, putting your pencil in the small indention in the top of the desk. The teacher is quick to return to her lesson, but you pay no attention. Thoughts run through your head, drowning out the sounds of students whispering and chalk against the chalkboard. 

What the hell are you doing here?

Why are you forcing yourself to be uncomfortable and nervous? You suppose it’s because it’s the law to attend school, unless you drop out. You know your dad won’t allow that. 

A light tapping on your shoulder catches your attention, and you begin regaining your temporarily “lost” senses just as the chalk scrapes in a terrible way against the blackboard. You go ridgid, not getting a chance to turn and look back at whomever was trying to get your attention before your hands reflexively snap up to cover your ears. Your eyes close, and you clench your jaw to the point that it hurts. The student behind you seems to have frozen, a finger still on your shoulder. It is slowly removed. They don’t want to talk anymore, hopefully. 

A folded up piece of paper is dropped over your shoulder. It lands on the desk, but tumbles off and stops on your thigh. You take a moment to recover, slowly removing your hands from your ears to reach down and grab the paper. You do your best to unfold it quietly, reading the note written onto it. 

“Want to go to the malt shop with me?”

The answer will likely be no.

“- Sarah”

You have no idea who Sarah is, or why she drew a heart at the end of her name. You have no interest in getting a milkshake with her, but don’t want to be rude. You fold the paper back up and put it into the right pocket of your jacket. You don’t want it to look like you’re completely disinterested. 

The class ends quickly enough after that, since you came in late. You only had twenty minutes left when you showed up, so it was no surprise to you how fast it seemed to go by. 

The bell rings. You’ve never liked the bell. It’s too high pitched, and the little hammer ringing against the bell itself is just a bad visual. You always avoid looking at them when nearby. You stand, gathering your things under your arm like before. People are interested and you, and you don’t want to deal with it. Besides, they aren’t interested in who you really are. They’re interested in the guy who knocked out the school’s quarterback. That isn’t you. 

Well, it is, but it is not who you usually are. 

From what you hear in the hallways, you broke Zahhak’s nose, dislocated his jaw, gave him a black eye, and knocked out two of his teeth. One of which was swallowed while he was out. You’re sure that he’s probably gotten his fair share of teasing since he came back. Apparently, he showed up two days after the fight and still looked pretty out of it. You feel sorry for him, but at the same time you feel that he deserved it. 

You have no idea what happened to the girl. You’ve haven’t heard any murmuring of “Serket” yet. That is probably for the best, honestly.

You try your best to get through the hall without conflict, but just as you pass the door of an unused classroom, you’re stopped. It’d be more accurate to say that you’re pulled into the room, but whoever tried to do it pulled you a little too late and just tugged you into the doorway. You hit the wooden frame with a thud, making a sort of confused noise. The arm just pulls you again, and successfully makes you stumble into the room.

You stumble far enough that the person is behind you, and you hear them close the door before you have a chance to turn around. You manage to get yourself together just in time to have your things pulled from under your arm and sat on a desk nearby. Looking over at the culprit, your eyes blow wide.

Of course it was him. It had to be him. Eridan-fucking-Ampora. He looks angry, but with his arms crossed across his chest he just looks so small that you can’t really take the expression on his face seriously. He isn’t actually that small. He’s of average height, you think, it’s you that’s almost abnormally large. He doesn’t seem the least bit intimidated by you, though. He looks like he’s ready to kill you, if anything. You’re scared. You’re scared that he’s going to yell at you, and never going to want to see you again. You understand why he’d do that. You were technically the reason he got into the situation in the first place. 

Plus, you threw him into a wall. He has every right to be mad at you. 

He starts talking at a rate faster than you can process, and you just stand there looking as stupid as ever. You’re a teenage boy. You have hormones. And thanks to that, your mind is wandering at an alarming rate. You prevent yourself from thinking anything weird, instead trying to pay attention. You take a deep breath, listening to his words. You didn’t catch the beginning of what he said, but you understand what he’s talking about now. 

“And I can’t believe you thought, somewhere in that stupid fuckin’ brain a’ yours, that it’d be a good idea to throw a guy who just got punched into a god damn wall! What are you, ill? Fuckin’ hell, man. I mean, fuck, thank you for kickin’ the shit outta him, but fuck.” His voice distracts you once again.

It's smooth, and even though he's upset with you, it makes you want to come closer. To wrap yourself around him and to never stop hearing that voice. 

You mumble out something that not even you understand, and he just stares at you. At your eyes, which flick away from his near immediately. You've seen his eyes. They're blue, and it looks almost like they shine their own light. Even when he's upset, his eyes hold a sense of what you like to think is hope. What for, you haven't figured out. You'd like to though.

You'd like a lot of things, but right now all you're getting is a light punch to the bicep. He says something about speaking up, and you attempt to do so. You get out an audible “I’m sorry,” and a slurred “I didn't want him hurting anyone.”

Really, you think that doesn't sound true. You didn't want Zahhak hurting Eridan. So, when he did hurt him, you did the same. Albeit, you went a little far. There's nothing you can do about that now. The fight is over, and there's nothing you can do to reverse the fact that you played the biggest part in it. 

Eridan doesn't seem to care about your apology. He keeps the same look on his face, just staring at you. You think, maybe, he's just taking you in. After all, from what you know he's never actually paid attention to you before. You're nervous he'll see something he doesn't like. It's common for people to not like you, whether it be the way you look, or the way you think. Something's always wrong, and you will never be perfect. You’re aware of that, and know that you are much, much less than perfect.

The cotton hugging your chest shifts as a firm finger is pointed into it. You fear what is to come next.

***

Cotton underwear under your jeans are the last thing on your mind, but are one of the few things you feel within the next few moments. Mainly because you’re pushed back so that your butt is against the wooden desk at the front of the room.

Eridan is close. Almost too close, but simultaneously too far away. He’s standing between your legs. Or- between your feet. Your legs are not open far enough to allow him to be quite that close. Your hands are holding the edge of the desk to the point that your knuckles turn white. You’re nervous. Nervous that you’re going to royally fuck something up before you get to leave the room. 

The bells throughout the school ring, the shrill sound making you flinch. Your eyes close, so you don’t notice Eridan’s inquisitive look. A firm, but somehow gentle hand is pressed to the center of your chest, right over your sternum. You risk peeking a single eye open to look down at it. There is a smooth, gold band around his middle finger. You wonder if it’s just for looks or if it’s actually significant.

It may just be the ring that makes you think so, but his hand looks almost feminine. The part that isn’t pressed against you looking soft and smooth. You’re sure that the other side is at least a little bit calloused. 

You’re snapped out of your thoughts by the hand moving away from your chest to wave in front of your face, accompanied by an annoyed sounding voice. You mutter out something that sounds like “what”, not moving your eyes up from where they focus on your chest. You’re afraid to look at his face. He might not even want you to. You could potentially earn yourself a knee to the crotch just from looking at him, so you don’t.

Your thoughts are once again interrupted by Eridan, this time by his hand reaching up and going under your jaw. His thumb is on one side, and three fingers on the other. His pinky isn’t long enough, so it simply rests against your neck. You guess you were wrong in your assumptions as he moves your head manually, making you face him. You still do not meet his eyes. And now that you think about it, you probably could’ve shaved. What little stubble has grown is probably poking at his hand in uncomfortable ways.

It doesn’t even cross your mind that he doesn’t let go of your face until he starts talking, rambling on about how you need to learn to pay attention. You guess he’s right. You stare at his lips as he talks, admiring the way they move, and how he articulates his words. He sometimes slips on on w’s, but not always. You love it.

He seems to take notice of something that you don’t, and he wrinkles his nose.

“Are you fuckin’ blushing?”

Well, shit. Now that you think about it, your cheeks do feel a little warm. You don’t know if it’s a byproduct of thinking about his lips, or simply the fact that he’s holding your face. That doesn’t last much longer though, as he yanks his hand away in disgust.

You don’t blame him.

You’re pretty disgusted with yourself too. You left yourself fall for a boy in a time and place where that was much less than okay. You shift against the desk, pushing yourself up to stand a little straighter. Just in case. 

Eridan takes a few steps back from you, wiping his hand off on the side of his leather jacket as if you’d just told you you didn’t wash your hands the last time you went to the bathroom. Luckily, that was not true. It makes you wonder if liking men is contagious, though. Part of you hopes so.

The sudden siren of “freak” comes to you as something worse than a knee to the genitals. It’s a mental blow, and leaves you leaning against the desk stunned as he leaves the room, slamming the door behind him. It shakes the room, and you. You’re left there, alone in a dark room, on the verge of tears. You fucked up, but not voluntarily. Just your luck.

You’re just one giant ball of fuck-ups wrapped up into a man shaped lump and given a brain. You don’t know why you let yourself get any kind of hopes up about not messing something up. You always mess up. You were born a mistake, and you will stay one. 

The leather jacket you wear suddenly becomes all too hot, and the small squeaks that it still occasionally produces just seem magnified. The sound of the sleeves rubbing against the torso is way too loud for you to handle at the moment, and it prompts you to clamp your hands over your ears. You’re practically squeezing your head with the force you put behind it, but you don’t care. You’re upset, and you want to go home, but you can’t. Unless you decide to walk three miles, you’re out of luck. In this state, you aren’t walking anywhere. 

Tears are quick to fall from your eyes, followed by choked sobs as you fall to the floor in front of the desk. You land on your butt, legs pulled up towards your chest. Times like this make you wish you were smaller, just wanting to disappear. Soon enough, even that thought process disappears. You find it hard to think at all, the only things running through your head not being things that you want to be there.

It’s too loud. It’s too dark. The floor is too cold. 

Too much is going on. 

You don’t know how much time passes before someone opens the door to see what is going on in the room that should be empty. You don’t know if they heard your seemingly never ending sobbing, or the few times you hit the back of your head against the desk. Possibly both. Whatever it was, you’re thankful someone managed to take notice. 

They rush in to try and comfort you, kneeling beside you and putting a hand on the back of your head, pulling you forwards into an embrace. 

The only thing you’re able to identify about whomever this is is that they are a girl, thanks to where your head is located. She smells nice. Like something green. She whispers some reassurances to you, but you don’t pick up on any of them. She just holds you there until your ragged breathing levels out, and you seem generally more calm. 

When she releases you and leans back onto her heels, you try to figure out who she is. You guess you don’t talk to many people, because her name eludes you. 

Kanaya. She tells you that her name is Kanaya. 

You’ve heard of her, and everything you’ve heard is good. She’s almost a mother figure, really. Very professional, but still nurturing. It’s a good personality to have. You wish you had something better than what you do, but for now you have to deal with awkward mistake-maker. 

She asks you what happened, and you make up an excuse. You say that you’re just under a lot of stress from returning to school, and that you just broke down. You wouldn’t drag Eridan into the situation, even if he did call you a freak. That would probably be a bad idea anyway. After all, you’re fairly certain he thinks you’re in love with him. Which you are. Nobody needs to know that it’s true, though.

Kanaya helps you out of the room, and even out of the school. She assures you that it is probably in your best interest to just spend the rest of the day at home. You couldn’t agree more. When you tell her that you don’t have a way home, she gives you one herself. You’re grateful for her generosity. You have no idea what you’d do if you had to encounter Eridan again, and you’d never even run into Equius.

Maybe he was avoiding you.

That’s all you can think after Kanaya drops you in front of your home, waving at you with a warm smile from where she sat. You’re glad she knew how to drive, and actually owned her own car. Most girls didn’t. 

Walking into the living room goes the same as ever, only this time you strip off your leather jacket in the doorway. It falls to the floor, and you can’t find the energy to care all that much. It can be picked up later. You’re much too busy collapsing face first onto the couch to actually put much thought into it. Your breath warms up the area around your face quickly, but the rest of the couch is cold. Uncomfortable.

You don’t move to fix it. You’re tired, and want to escape into the land of sleep to avoid your problems. 

After a while of thinking, you find yourself drifting off.

The cotton shirt rides up your back in your sleep, but you aren’t awake to tug it back down.


	5. Chapter 5

Leather continues to be worn on your shoulders throughout the week, and you’re happy to hear that it also continues to get less squeaky. The places under your arms are the most worn so far, but it still looks new. Your dad is happy that you’re finally wearing it, and has complimented you multiple times. You don’t always believe him, but you’ve checked yourself out in the mirror at least once since you came home from school early.

You aren’t really happy with your looks. Dads are meant to say that you look good, even if you don’t. Because of that, you aren’t sure that you can believe him.

You keep forgetting to shave, and you now have a visible layer of stubble. Due to you hyper analyzing your face, you can tell that it helps your cheekbones stand out. You don’t know why, or if you want that. Your dad suggests that you shave. You agree that you should, but haven’t yet found the effort to do so. 

Kanaya and Aradia have been keeping you company at school, helping you get through your classes without breaking down.

You have not seen Eridan around since the incident on Monday. It’s probably for the best. You’re scared that he’ll do something bad if he sees you again. So, as much as you’d like to see him, you’re fine with not.

You’re more than surprised to see his brother standing on the corner a block away from your house on the way home. His name is Cronus, and you like it, but not as much as Eridan. He’s leaning against a street sign, looking down the street away from you. For obvious reasons, you can feel panic swelling in your chest. You keep walking regardless, passing him with your head low. 

Just your luck, you hear him move a few seconds after you pass, and he begins walking towards you. You expect the worst, but when a firm hand is placed on your shoulder, you just stop. He does nothing. A moment of silence passes between the two of you, and you feel yourself calm down at the lack of punching happening. 

After a few seconds, his hand falls from your shoulder, instead resting on your back. He pushes, but it’s gentle enough that you think he’s just trying to get you to walk. So, you do, jerking forward with the first step, but falling back into a normal pattern. Your head is still low, but you can see him walking next to you. 

He clears his throat and starts talking. You try your hardest to pay attention.

“Thanks for helping out my bro’, alright?” You nod, showing him that you’re listening, and he continues, “And I don’t know what happened at school, but I’m pretty sure he’s trying to figure out a way to get you back for something. Ain’t looking like it’s gonna turn out good either, so I thought I’d warn you.”

He’s… being nice? That’s unusual, but you suppose you have no reason to think he’d be mean. Like you told your brother, the Ampora family hasn’t ever done anything bad to you. Until Eridan called you a freak, at least. 

You don’t respond to Cronus’ warning, and he continues to walk with you in silence for a minute. Your jaw is clenched, and when he looks over at you, you think he notices that. His hand falls from your back and grabs your arm, stopping you. You lift your head slightly to look at him, your eyes glued to the bridge of his nose. You’re pretty sure the type he has is called Greek, or something along those lines. You get that and Roman mixed up quite often. 

His hand is still on your upper arm, and he’s just looking at you.

“You okay, kid?”

No, you are not. You haven’t been okay in a while. You’ve been making progress though.

You shake your head slowly, and he looks up and down the street before pulling you into one of the most masculine hugs you’ve ever experienced. He pats your back a firm two times, and pulls away rather quickly after that.

You sigh, keeping yourself calm.

He gave you a nod before he turned away and walked off. You’re left confused, and honestly a little disoriented. Your crush’s brother, whom you’ve never spoken to before, just hugged you and warned you about whatever Eridan is planning.

The fact that an Ampora hugged you for any reason is something to brag over. They are a family with plenty of money, as well as a reputation. Of course, not a very good reputation, but they are well known regardless. 

The rest of your walk home is uneventful. You're just left with your thoughts. And in times like this, you think you'd like to have a better understanding of everything that goes on around you. Sometimes not knowing can be hard. Other times, not knowing can be blissful. 

But those are just instances where you don't know that someone is calling you ugly behind your back. Things that you'd rather not know anyway. 

This is something bad. Something that is possibly preventable, but the way to prevent is unknown. The entire plan is unknown, actually. All you know is that you’ll probably have an Ampora lurking around trying to kick your ass in some way sooner or later. 

That is not a good thing. Nothing about the situation you are in is good, except that you know that the nicer Ampora is more or less on your side. You think. He may have just been telling you so that you could try and stop it so his brother wouldn’t get in serious trouble, but you’d prefer to think that he was trying to help you out too. Maybe he likes you a little.

Regardless of how he feels about you, you find yourself hurrying into your small home as soon as you reach the door.

It is by no means an impressive place to live. It was basically a trailer park. One of the ones that had been made permanent, for people to live in year round.

Not somewhere you want to live your entire life, and definitely not somewhere sturdy enough to protect against a determined high school boy.

It may not be the safest place to live, but it is your house. You feel the safest in it than anywhere else, even if there’s a hole in the kitchen wall from being repetitively shot with bb guns. Your windows don’t do anything to keep out cold air in the winter either, but you don’t care all that much. 

Your home is where you feel safe, and you understand that it’s all your family can afford. You may be a little better off once your brother officially moves out on his own, but you have no idea when that will be. He doesn’t show any interest in moving yet. 

The slightly warmer temperature of your home is relaxing, and you sigh as soon as you have your door closed. 

Your father won’t be home for another hour, and your brother’s appearances have become unpredictable. Since you’ll have to wait for dinner, you get a snack to help hold you off until then. Plus, you could use some comfort food. You’re a little stressed.

You grab whatever chocolate bar you see first, which just so happens to include caramel. You can live with that. 

As you usually would, you go about doing your homework at the kitchen table, chowing down on the sweets you grabbed while you do so. If this goes anything like the last few days have, you’ll have to call someone to help you out. Aradia is your go to for history, and Kanaya can help you out with English. You have no help with math or science yet. 

Aradia’s expertise in science only features how to prepare a body for a funeral, and how the ancient Egyptians mummified pharaohs. You find that a little weird, but that is beside the point. She isn’t much help when it comes to Biology.

You know of a few people who could easily help you with math and science, but you aren’t exactly on good terms with any of them. You’ve heard that a guy named Sollux does a pretty good job in math related subjects, but you’ve been a little too afraid to ask him for help. The only time you’ve ever spoken to him was Freshman year when you tried to help him out by informing him that his fly was down. He got so pissed at you that you’ve just been turned off from interacting with him.

Plus his brother hit you over the head with a bike tire once, so that might be a factor too.

As the minutes pass by and your homework very, very slowly gets done. 

And as you adjust to the temperature of your house, you decide you don’t need to be wearing your jacket.

Leather, though it is a very nice addition to some outfits, is not always necessary.

***

Faux fur, oddly enough, is the only thing that you can feel at the moment.

Or maybe it's just the only thing that you're allowing yourself to feel.

Mostly because you have your face buried so deep in one of the on Kanaya’s bed that you can't see or smell anything. You like it a lot. It's very soft and warm, and Kanaya is sitting on the edge of the bed with her legs crossed like women are apparently supposed to sit. She's droning on about something that you lost track of a long time ago, but you don't have the heart to tell her that you haven't been listening either. She's drawing. You know that much. Last time you checked she was drawing a dress.

It's been a week now since Cronus warned you about Eridan, and nothing has happened yet. In that time, you've done quite a bit to prepare yourself in case of an emergency. Rufioh showed you a few tricks on how to block and dodge things. You have no idea how he knew them in the first place, but his words sounded believable enough that you let him teach you. 

Plus you got Kanaya and Aradia together and told them about the whole situation. Including how you liked him.

It was a very difficult decision to make. It could've gotten you into deep shit had they not liked it. But they were very understanding.

Kanaya seemed happy, actually. She hasn't said anything about why she was happy, but she was. Even Aradia confirmed to you that she looked very happy when you admitted to being kind of interested in men. 

On the other hand Aradia was kind of confused about it at first.

She ended up taking it well, but she didn't really understand why you, being as big and weird as you are, could be into guys. 

She made you promise later that you hadn't taken offense to it. According to her, she would've felt terrible if you did.

Kanaya invited you over today though for a special reason.

Christmas, despite it coming up very slowly, will arrive soon. There is still two months before then, but she insists that she needs you over to make plans.

Those plans just happen to be the winter dance that your school hosts every year. You've never gone. You never had anyone to take, nor did you have anything to wear. The most formal piece of clothing that you own is a very scratchy sweater. 

So you always just stayed home.

Your brother went twice, and he said it was a lot like prom. You never went to that either though, so you still had no clue what the dance was like. 

Kanaya insists that she has to make a tuxedo specially for you, and that she has to make herself a matching dress. 

You didn't object to going to the dance with her, but she explained that you'd just be going as friends anyway. She told you that she was interested in someone else at the moment, but she couldn't go with them. 

She won't tell you who it is yet. 

Regardless, you're laying around waiting for her to finish her designs so that she can measure you. You don't want her to, but she said that she has to if you want the suit to fit right.

If she's making you something expensive for free, there's no way that you're going to let it fit wrong. It's too good an opportunity to pass up. 

She said that her dress would be some combo of red and purple, and that your tie would probably be one of the two colors. She has yet to decide on that last part.

You're unsure how long you've been tuned out when she starts tapping your back and telling you to get up. It takes you longer than it probably should, but you push yourself up and off of the bed, standing with a slight slouch. Lately, your posture has gone down the drain. You're not sure why. Kanaya has been trying to fix it every chance that she gets. Like right now, for instance, as she pushes your chest back. 

“Posture, Tavros. We’ve talked about this.”

Yeah, you have, but standing up straight has made your back hurt a little recently.

You don't say anything about it. It would just make her concerned over what is probably nothing. Back problems run in your family anyway, and nothing major has happened to any of them that you know of.

Now, Kanaya is shorter than you, but she is still tall for a girl. At least you're pretty sure she is. She has to be at least your brother’s height, and he's about normal when you compare him to most other men his age. So she has no problems reaching your face and turning it to the side. 

You have no idea why she does that, but apparently there's something interesting on your cheek. Either that or she just thinks that there is because she's staring at it.

“Um, what are you looking at?”

Your eyes hurt from pushing them so far to the side just to see her, so you end up looking away as she answers.

“Oh, nothing in particular. I am just thinking about how wonderful a certain someone's lips would look on your cheek.”

You have no clue what she's talking about. At first you think that she's talking about herself, but she isn't. At least that's what she says when you ask her who she's talking about. She means Eridan. 

Now you're the one that's confused. Not only did she look happy when you told her about your predicament, but now she's even supporting it? This is something that you never would have expected from anyone.

But a long and drawn out conversation that it starts let's you know why. 

It's because she is also in the same situation. She doesn't like boys, she likes girls. That makes more sense. So both of you are gay. At least to some extent, since you do still sort of like girls. But that isn't the point. The point is that you're both attracted to people that nobody wants you to be attracted to.

And the conversation leads to hugs and even tears.

You're sort of embarrassed that you were the one to cry about it, but it doesn't surprise you. Up until you punched Zahhak you had a reputation for being sort of a baby. 

Kanaya doesn't seem to mind though. She still seems happy.

Now you understand why she want you to attend the dance with you. You’re sort of excited to go now. You’ll both have other people that you’ll want to be with, but you can keep each other company since there isn’t anything else you can do. Maybe you two can even help each other out with talking to the ones that you’re interested in.

Man, now you can’t wait until winter break. The dance on a Friday night, which is also the last day of school before the break. It’s an ideal time for a dance, in your opinion. You’ll get to have fun that night and not have to worry about coming back once the weekend is over just to be embarrassed about something. 

Kanaya even offers to teach you how to dance after you admit that you have no idea how. You politely decline though, and tell her that if she wants you to dance, that she’ll just have to teach you the day of the event. There’s no way that you’re practicing in her room. Even though you don’t like each other in a romantic way, you would hate to have her mom walk in on that and assume that you do. You’re not sure how you would deal with that.

You instead tell her to measure you, which she happily complies with. It takes a lot of her telling you to be still and to stop sucking in your gut, but it eventually gets done. And afterwards she lectures you about why you shouldn’t try to alter your appearance while being measured, and why you have no reason to anyway. According to her, you’re in great shape. 

Sure, you aren’t fat or anything like that. You just have a little extra chub. You know that it’s not that bad anyway. Hardly any, in fact. Just enough to fill out your cheeks a little and make it impossible for you to have visible abs. You don’t mind it. Sucking what little you have in was just one of those self conscious reactions that almost everybody has. You can’t help it. 

Regardless, you collapse back into her bed, face burying itself in her fluffy blanket once again. This time though, there is a smile on your face. 

You’re happy that in a way you aren’t alone anymore.


	6. Chapter 6

Canvas shoes are surprisingly hard to pull on sometimes. Especially when you have big feet but still lace them up tightly, and forget to loosen them when you kick them off at home. 

That is part of the reason that you’re running late today. 

You couldn’t get your shoes on quickly enough for your dad to be able to drive you to school on his way to work.

Now, you didn’t want him to be late either, but you would’ve really liked the ride. 

Today you’ll just have to walk and show up late. You can’t help it, and you don’t want to miss school, so you’ll deal with it even though you don’t want to.

It’s getting colder outside, so once you finally get your shoes on and laced up, you put on your leather jacket once again. It’s late October, after all. Tomorrow is Halloween. This year you aren’t doing anything. You’re a senior after all, and most people your age consider themselves too old to dress up and get candy. So this year you will be passing out candy on your crappy little porch.

Your dad already bought a few bags of candy, and you and your brother have gotten into them already too. The same as every year. You pick out all of the specific things that you want from the variety bags, and leave the rest to the kids that come to your door. 

Your dad gave up on stopping you two a long time ago. 

But you are also excited for something else. Besides the upcoming dance, that is.

Starting on Halloween will also be the Day of the Dead. It’s a tradition that your family does celebrate, seeing as you’re Spanish and lived in Mexico for a good while. 

There are only a few other people in the community that celebrate this, but every year you all get together and throw a big party for the occasion. You even welcome people who don’t celebrate, just to share the traditions. 

Some families join in and have just as much fun as you do, but others will pretend that nothing at all is happening. It’s kind of sad to know that they dislike either your race or the party so much that they’ll just ignore one of your favorite holidays, but you can’t do anything about that. You’ve learned to just deal with it. If they don’t like you then they don’t like you. Wasting your time on trying to change that would just be kind of stupid.

You thought about inviting the Amporas last year, but you didn’t. You were too scared.

But this year you’re inviting Kanaya and Aradia, and you’re pretty sure that Damara will be there too, since your brother will be. 

Kanaya even made herself a dress for it. She started as soon as you told her about it, and you had to provide her with a few pictures for inspiration. Aradia said that she could paint all three of your faces like the sugar skulls if you wanted. You haven’t given her a definite answer on that one.

It was suggested that you invite Eridan, but you instead decided that you wanted to invite Cronus. He was the one that was nice to you, after all. 

If Eridan shows up with him, so be it, but you aren’t inviting him specifically.

You haven’t even actually invited Cronus yet. You haven’t seen him so you haven’t got the chance. However, the fact that you’re late to school gives you an idea.

The easiest place to find him at is the malt shop, from what you understand, and even if he isn’t there someone that he knows will be. You should be able to talk to one of them and ask where he might be. So that’s where you head instead of school. The malt shop downtown.

Walking is boring as usual, but you’re glad that you wore your jacket. It’s colder than you expected it to be. You’re not really accustomed to any temperature under fifty degrees, thanks to where you grew up and how hot it gets in the summer here. So while other people are still walking around in normal clothes, you’re wearing a warm jacket. 

But thankfully the walk to the malt shop isn’t too long. You get there within fifteen minutes thanks to your height.

Pushing the doors open you get a glimpse of a few other jackets like yours, but unfortunately none of them belong to an Ampora. You decide to wait around for awhile anyway. You did walk here, after all, it’d be pointless to just give up and go home. 

Instead you wait patiently for a waitress to look like she’s not busy. When one at the counter just starts standing around, you approach her. You lean against the counter slightly and offer her a smile which she returns when she notices you.

“How can I help you, sweetheart?”

She’s an older woman. Probably in her sixties. Not the most popular waitress here for obvious reasons, but she is still your favorite. She was the one that taught you how to pronounce some of the weird and made up names on the menu board hanging above the counter when you were younger. 

You don’t come here that often, but you still like it when you do.

You just end up ordering yourself a soda. You don’t plan on staying for an extended amount of time.

But just when you get the cold cup in your hands, you hear a familiar voice. And a loud one at that.

“Aye, Strider! You best not be eating my damn fries over there!” 

Yeah, that’s Cronus. Just who you were looking for. He must have been in the bathroom or something. You don’t suspect that the “or something” would be macking on a girl in the back. He’s an attractive guy, but girls never seemed to be all that into him. 

You turn towards the source of the voice, looking a little silly with your straw in your mouth and your eyebrows raised.

There he is. Hair as slicked back as ever, leather jacket hugging his shoulders, and a big smile on his face.

You hate to say it, but sometimes you like him more than you like Eridan. Simply because he’s happier more often. The whole family has some angsty backstory behind them from what you can understand, but he’s the most optimistic and out there of the group. 

If Eridan could pull off that smile every once in awhile, you would have fallen straight into the grand canyon for him by now. Nowadays you’re just standing on a piece of sidewalk that’s slightly lower than the others around it. The whole “freak” incident made you fall a little bit out of your imaginary love with him. 

Maybe one day it’ll come back, but today you’re focused on Cronus.

Right now he’s at a table with some of his friends, most of which are now out of school and free to spend their days like this. Just like him.

As much as you’d like to talk to him right now, you don’t have the confidence to walk over when he’s surrounded by strangers. It’d be bad enough for you to walk up to him when any of them were even around. You’re sort of a reputation ruiner at this point.

So you drop yourself onto a swivel bar stool and spin around, sitting your soda down and waiting for a brilliant idea to come into your head. It takes much longer than it probably should, but you eventually get one. All from some creepy guy trying to order a girl a milkshake.

You turn and look back at Cronus and his friends, trying to see what they already have. Cronus had said something about fries, so he already has food. But you see no sign of a milkshake anywhere. Root beer bottles yes, dairy products no. Perfect. 

It doesn’t take much to get the attention of that favorite waitress of yours. You just call her Nana, even though her name tag clearly states her as Jane. You were introduced to her as Nana, and it stuck. She comes and smiles at you, asking if you need anything else.

“Well,” you pause. She knows about your whole issue with confidence. She should understand and not take it as you trying to be gay. “You see that guy over there? Cronus? If I ordered a milkshake would you, like, take it to him for me?”

A brief moment passes of her leaning to the side to see past you before she nods. “Those boys are always getting themselves into trouble. I don’t know why you want to give him one of my shakes, but if you insist.” She smiled despite her words sounding a bit iffy, and goes to make the shake. She doesn’t even stop to ask you what flavor. You always get chocolate and peanut butter. It’s your favorite.

Once she’s done with it she puts a cherry on top of the whipped cream and walks out from behind the counter, winking at you on her way.

Okay, well now you’re a little nervous.

***

Vinyl does not make the bar stools any more comfortable than just having wooden ones would. There is nothing to lean back against, and no arms to use as extra support. You just have to lean forward and rest your elbows against the counter.

You hold your cup sort of like a child would. Both hands around it despite your hands almost being too big for such a thing. Your fingers are intertwined like you’re holding your own hand.

It doesn’t take long for Nana to return back to behind the counter, going to help another customer now that you’ve been served. 

While she was gone you refused to let yourself look back to see Cronus’ reaction to getting the milkshake. You have no idea if Nana told him who it was from or not either, but if he tasted it and looked around he could probably take a pretty easy guess. You did sort of get some weird nicknames back in freshman year for bringing a peanut butter sandwich to lunch every single day. 

Based on that observation, he could narrow it down to you pretty easily if he tried. 

And he does. Because soon enough there is a firm hand slapped onto your back and the seat next to you is taken up by an Ampora holding an already have drank milkshake. He must like the flavor.

“Nitram! How can I be of service to ya’ on this fine day. Need help figuring out what to do while you skip school? I got plenty of ideas for you if you’re interested.”

He got right down to business, apparently. It makes you wonder what is “ideas” must entail. 

You stutter a bit when you start responding, “Uh, well, Cronus-”

He removes his hand from your back. Probably because he can see how stupidly nervous you are over nothing.

You continue. “Cronus. Halloween is coming up. Obviously. I mean, who wouldn’t know that? But- that isn’t what I’m trying to talk about. Well it kind of is. But my point is that my family and a few others host this kind of party. For Dia De Los Muertos. Um. Well to you it’d just be Day of the Dead. But we’re hosting a party for it on Halloween and I’ve never actually invited my own friends but this year I am and I was wondering if you maybe would want to, you know, go?”

Wow, you really rambled with that one. You’re not sure that he even picked up half of what you said, based on his facial expression. Or maybe he’s just never heard you talk so much.

Now that he’s just staring at you and not answering, you’re a little concerned. You really hope that he doesn’t think that you’re asking him to something like prom. Because you’re not. Sure, there will be dances and things of that nature, but you’re really just asking him to show up and be a friend. 

What if Eridan told him that you’re into him? What if he exaggerated and said that you’re gay and who knows what else?

You’re pretty sure that Cronus picks up on your silent distress pretty easily, seeing as he slurps down the rest of his milkshake and stands up.

“Meet me outside in a second, chief.”

Okay. Yeah. Outside sounds just fine to you. Less people will be looking as you outside. None of his friends will be out there.

You didn’t realize that your eyes were watering until you watched him walk away and you went to finish your soda. You swipe at them with the back of your hand and pull out your wallet. You don’t have much, but you have enough to pay for this. You just lay a dollar bill between the two glasses. Nana will know to keep the change.

It takes you longer than it should to get up and get outside. Mostly because you nearly fall out of your stool and straight onto the ground, but you manage to catch your balance at the last second and stay upright.

You’re quick to get out the door after that.

Cronus is waiting there for you, looking only mildly concerned about the redness that rose to your cheeks from almost falling on your face in front of the entire diner.  
He pulled you into another one of those masculine feeling hugs that he’d given you a while back, patting your back and everything. Wow, he’s warm. Weird. You assume that it’s because he’s been inside longer than you have.

Once he pulls away from the hug (he had to pull away manually, because you showed no signs of letting go), he smiles at you. “I’ll go to your little party thing.”

Oh. Well you were worried over nothing. He probably just didn’t want to be seen with you. You have no problem with that, even though you probably should. You’re kind of a reputation ruiner. It wouldn’t surprise you if him even coming outside with you was arousing some weird conversations among his friend group.

“You’ll come? Oh. Uh, well, I didn’t think you’d actually say yes, so I didn’t really come prepared for this…” You pat your pockets in search of something that you could write with or on, but Cronus saves you from that trouble by pulling a marker out of his own. Why he has it is a mystery to you.

“Just write the details on my arm. I’ll write it down somewhere else when I get the chance. No worries.”

He held the marker out to you and you hesitantly took it, switching it to your left hand and pulling off the cap. It’s brown, which you think is fitting for the situation. Chocolate and peanut butter milkshake, etc. 

Cronus pushes up one of his sleeves and offers you the underside of his arm. The side that’s more pale and has less hair. For some reason, that strikes you as weird. Probably because you think way too much and you’ve always imagined that showing people places like that is sort of like showing them your weaknesses. Why? Hell if you know. Maybe something to do with the veins that run through there and all of that science-y stuff. 

It takes you a moment to start writing, grabbing his hand and placing your thumb in the center of his palm first to make sure he couldn’t move and mess you up. 

His fingers twitch just a bit when you put your thumb there. Probably a natural reaction to all of the hands he’s held in the past.

You really need to stop thinking about the probablys when you don’t actually know.

You distract yourself by writing down what you need to. The address of where the party will be, and what time people will probably start showing up. There is no set time. You just estimated based on when things started getting more fun last year.

You’re very excited, and Cronus looks like he is too when you put the cap back on the marker and give it back to him.

“Oh, it’s at Mulzer’s Camp? God damn, this is some fancy shit, Tav.”

It’s not really that fancy. It’s just an outdoor community center overlooking a lake. All of the families hosting the party chip in to rent it out for the weekend. You guess it is kind of fancy for the occasion though. Back in Mexico most parties would just be gatherings in cemeteries, but since none of the Hispanic families around here have family buried in any of the local cemeteries, you just improvise.

“Yeah? Uh-”

You’re not super comfortable around Cronus yet. You know a lot less about him than Eridan. You ran out of things to say. Cronus notices that.

“Hey, I’m gonna get back to my friends, alright. I’ll be looking forward to the party though. Wouldn’t dream of missing it.”

You nod, and he nods back. Wow, you’ve never noticed his jawline before. It’s more defined than Eridan’s. 

You kindly remind yourself to stop being so gay as Cronus pats your shoulder and re-enters the malt shop. Now you need to figure out something else to do for the rest of the day. You don’t feel like going to school. So instead you decide to head out to the store to see what you can get in the way of food and decor for the party. The money in your wallet should probably be saved for something more important, but you’ve never been good at making decisions, so you don’t care.

You end up coming home with an empty wallet, the ingredients to make enchiladas, and despite your warnings not to be gay, string to make some various colored bracelets.


	7. Chapter 7

Leather, for once, is not something that you're wearing. No, today you're wearing something that fits the theme of the party. A black suit. You do also have a sombrero just for the aesthetic of it, but you aren't wearing it. You'll probably let a little kid use it for the night, since you don't need anything else to help you knock your head into everything.

There are times when you have to stop and think about the choices you've made and try to decide if they were good ones.

Making bracelets to give to all of the friends that you invited probably wasn't the most clever, but you do think that it's a nice gesture. You even made one for Cronus. You made four different ones. One for each of their favorite colors with brown weaved in throughout it. And for yourself you made one that was brown with all three of the other colors in it. You thought that it was a very cute idea when you first started, but now you're doubting yourself. 

Yours is already around your wrist, tight enough that Kanaya could only fit one finger under it without it squeezing your arm. She has hers on too, and you're waiting for Aradia to arrive before you can hand deliver hers to her.

Kanaya said that she loves hers, and in turn you said that you love the dress that she ended up making. It's a traditional one that would be worn for such an occasion. Long with a few layers of different colors or designs. Hers is black with green, which you sort of expected since she told you green was her favorite. But a specific shade of green. Jade. Unfortunately you couldn't find that color string to use for the bracelets, but it's close enough.

Kanaya has shown up earlier than any of the other guests. When you asked about it she just claimed that she wanted to be on time. You let it slide even though you hadn't finished setting everything up.

Some of the host families are still arriving, bringing with them lots of decorations and food. 

The enchiladas you made turned out really good, even though you burnt your right hand in the process of making them. It's still a little sensitive to the touch, but you're doing your best to ignore it. No reason to focus on the bad things so much right now. It's you're favorite holiday and you want to be excited.

The sun is only just now setting, and you're walking around with a box of matches lighting any candle that has been set out. Some families brought urns with their relatives ashes inside and set up little shrines to them, and others just brought cherished belongings from loved ones. It's what you do in place of not having a proper graveyard. You set up a makeshift one on the rows of tables provided, and the rest of the tables are reserved for eating and games. 

The one that your dad set up has an actual urn, plus a few items that you've only heard stories about. There's a brush that was apparently your great grandmother’s, a key that supposedly opened up some chest long ago, and a bouquet of flowers. The flowers aren't needed, but you always insist on having them.

Usually you don't like to think on why you insist on them, but every year your dad has to go out and buy yellow roses just so you won't get upset.

You have no doubt that at some point tonight you will find yourself in front of those roses and probably crying. Happens every year. But you don't care. You're still going to enjoy the party for as long as you can. 

It isn't long before you hear your brother yelling about the Megidos arriving. You perk up, tucking the box of matches into your pocket and running towards the source of his voice, only almost tripping once. You were greeted by the younger of the two jumping straight into your arms. She isn't too heavy, but it does send you falling straight back into the grass.

Fortunately, it doesn't hurt too bad. You're pretty sure it popped everything in your back, but you've fallen enough times that it isn't awful. She's giggling, hugging you tightly while you just groan from falling.

“Nice to see you too,” you end up laughing along with her, and after a few minutes you find yourself seated in front of Aradia getting your face painted. 

Kanaya waits next to you patiently. Aradia wanted to paint yours first since it was sort of your party. She also said that she never got to put any form of makeup on a man before, and she wanted to see how different it could be. You're pretty excited. She's already put on what is supposed to be a base coat of white. Sure you'll look like a skeleton, but you'll look like a cool skeleton.

Some little part of you hopes that Cronus will think that it's cool too.

Yeah, you've been thinking about him a lot today. Both him and Eridan. You've been pretty concerned that Eridan might end up showing up or that he’ll know where Cronus is and try to do something to ruin the whole party. You really hope that doesn’t happen.

It would be terrible for someone to crash a party honoring dead people. That’d be like someone crashing a festive funeral. Not quite as bad as a normal funeral, but still pretty bad.

Honestly, part of you also doesn’t believe that Cronus will actually show up. But, you’ll just have to wait until the time that you designated for him. There was only an hour or two left to wait until then, and more and more people were starting to show up. A long table was slowly being filled up with traditional foods from many different Spanish countries, and more candles were set up and lit. It was a very pretty sight to see once the sun started setting. 

Hundreds of candles sitting amongst flowers and bouquets, sugar skulls, and even some smaller versions of the meals set out to honor the deceased. Toys aren’t uncommon either, but those are only for children.

Kanaya admires them from where she sits beside you. You can only think about it, since Aradia is in your line of sight and making you close your eyes at seemingly random times. But you know very well what it looks like. It’s one of those things that you don’t ever want to forget. If you ever have kids, you want them to be able to see what this is like too.

The paint being strategically smeared on your face shows no signs of being finished up anytime soon, and you aren’t sure that you want it to be over anyway. Even if it’s wet and is making the bridge of your nose tingle a little, you’re having fun. Aradia is fussing over your face, talking about how much some color would compliment your eyes, and Kanaya rests one of her hands on your knee.

You aren’t sure why, but it’s comforting. You don’t care that you’re hanging out with girls when you could be roughhousing with the other guys around. These girls are your friends and you aren’t the biggest fan of violence. Even if you were you’d be having more fun right where you are anyway. The brush that Aradia is using feels so nice against your face that you think you might just end up dozing off before she can finish.

***

Facepaint isn’t actually the most fun thing. At least not after a couple of hours. There are patches that are dry, and some that are still way too wet. And you’re pretty sure you accidentally wiped some off of your cheek already. But now is beyond the point of caring too much about your appearance.

You’ve had a single shot of tequila, which really did nothing to you, but it was all that you were allowed. There is a small band playing music in singing loudly in Spanish off to the side, and there are people milling around all over the place talking to their friends and family. 

You lost track of Aradia a long time ago, but Kanaya has stuck by your side thus far. She is probably the only one here who doesn’t know anyone else, so you don’t blame her. Instead you just offer her whatever foods you pick up and translate compliments that people throw her way in passing. 

So far you haven’t seen Cronus. The time you wrote down on his arm has passed, and he doesn’t seem to be around. At least not that you’ve been able to find. You have high hopes that he may be here and just hasn’t found you yet either.

Kanaya does eventually leave you, claiming that she needs to use the bathroom and would hate for you to have to wait around for her. She promises that she’ll find you whenever she needs you. She had been thinking about trying to find someone else to talk to anyway.

Much to your surprise, not long after you depart from Kanaya, someone places firm hands on your hips from behind and you freeze right up. The hands remove themselves pretty quickly upon your reaction though, and a tall Ampora peeks around your shoulder at you.

He’s got one of those signature Ampora grins on his face, and a look in his eye that tells you that he definitely thought you were being gay when you invited him here, but he’s not being rude about it. Instead he just comes up in front of you and starts chattering away, talking about all the foods he tried while he was trying to find you, and about how many different “weird Spanish words” had been said to him.

You just smile and laugh along, nodding when it seems appropriate.

And in all honesty, you lose track of time after that. There’s a point where you’re pulled out into the middle of a dance floor that had been formed in front of the band playing, and you’re also pretty sure that you got handed another two or three shots. The shots being probably what aided the most in your lost time.

You do find that after what you can only assume to be another few hours have passed that you’re dragged into the bathrooms too. 

The bathrooms are just single stalls set up in a little concrete building. One for each gender.

Inside the bathroom you’re pressed against a wall, and from there you lose even more time. You ended up more focused on the concrete scratching at your back through your suit than the lips against yours, and the feeling of warm hands pulling and untucking your shirt is blocked out by the feeling of your shoes clumsily scuffing across the ground.

You can’t exactly say how long that lasted, but by the time things cooled down you had your white button-up unbuttoned and your undershirt had been pushed up your chest. You could see a bright red spot forming into a bruise on your chest, and a few light scratch marks around your hips, but other than that you were unscathed.

You have no idea where Cronus even went off to. You have reason to believe that he tidied himself up and left, not wanting you to follow him out immediately to avoid suspicion.

A quick look in the mirror shows you that your makeup is basically ruined. There’s handprints smeared across your cheeks, the black that was once on your lips is gone, and the area around it is in terrible shape as well. Sweat sort of made everything else run.

You sigh to yourself, straightening out and buttoning your shirt back up. You grab a paper towel from the roll sitting on the sink, getting it wet under the cold water before wiping it down the bridge of your nose. It takes you awhile, but soon enough your face is clean.

Honestly, you’re more concerned about the fact that all of the hard work that Aradia put into your makeup just went to waste than you are about the fact that Cronus just made out with you in a bathroom. It’s odd how mixed up your priorities can become when you’ve had enough to drink to get tipsy. You think you might need to drink some water to counter that. That’s how it works. You’re pretty sure, anyway.

After leaning down and hitting your head against the skin a few times, you manage to get a drink from the faucet. It isn’t the best tasting water, but the important thing is that it’s not toxic, and it’s alcohol free. You really shouldn’t have accepted the shots offered to you. Even if you’re tall, it’s still illegal.


	8. Chapter 8

The white ceramic sink that sits in front of the tiny bathroom mirror is your anchor, and the rest of the bathroom is your ship in the middle of a big tropical storm. You can hear the water move at such a speed that it would drown any poor soul that happened to fall in, and you can see the wind whipping around you like it was trying to tear all of your already undone clothes off.

You feel like such a mess.

There are just a few spots in your hair line where stubborn face paint still resides, and you have yet to button up your shirts again.

You hear a small knock at the bathroom door, one that you can’t really pick out as anyone in particular. You sniff in response, just trying to be loud enough to let them know that the bathroom is currently occupied.

Most of the men will just pee on a tree here anyway, so you don’t know why they’d even bother with the bathroom. You always thought that you were the only one that did.

Whoever knocked on the door probably leaves, as you hear nothing more from them. Then a minute or so later another knock comes. This one is hard and loud, enough to make you jump.

“Hold on,” you mutter, looking down at yourself to start straightening out your clothes. You start to pull your shirt down, but then notice the red mark on your chest again. Though now it’s more purple, it’s still the same one. It’s shaped almost like a set of lips, and there at two little purple marks between the lips that were probably Cronus’ teeth. The Amporas always had sharp canines.

You yank your shirt down over it, deciding to worry over it later. You button everything up and take a moment to straighten out your hair, though it always looks messy to some degree.

When you pull the door to the bathroom open, hearing and feeling the click of it unlocking itself, a man that you do not recognize stands at the door, holding his stomach like he’s about to be sick.

Out which end is beyond you, and you don’t really want to think about that.

You squeeze past him and let him barrel into the bathroom like his life depends on it, and you go somewhere else.

Somewhere else being directly to the area covered in tables and food, and then to your older brother’s arms.

Rufioh doesn’t know why you’re collapsing into his arms, or why you’re collapsing at all, but he just accepts it. He scoots his paper plate of food off towards the center of the table he sat at and turned to straddle the bench, letting you rest against his chest like you can remember doing as a child.

His smaller arms wrap around your broad shoulders, his fingers barely intertwining where they met. The side of your face is pressed into the crook of his neck, eyes squeezed so tightly shut that you can see little squiggles of imaginary light form in the corners of them.

Words of comfort are whispered into your ear even though your brother doesn’t know what the problem is. Little afformations of “esta bien” or “se pondrá mejor”. Your brother loves you, and that’s all you really need right now. A little bit of pure, unbridled, brotherly love.

Rufioh has always been good at providing that when you need it, and you try your best to do the same for him despite being a lot worse at it.  
After your brother has gone quiet, you feel a small, soft hand on your back. The voice behind that hand tells you that it’s Damara.

She slowly rubs the space untouched by Rufioh’s arm, asking if he felt she should locate her sister for help. Rufioh nods, and Damara leans down, pecking your cheek and telling you that Aradia is on her way, and then she leaves.

In order for Aradia to be on her way she first has to find her, but since that is what she sets off to do you abstain from commenting on it. There is no need to say more than you must.

***

It takes quite a while to comfort you back to normal, but it is eventually done. Aradia was apparently with Kanaya, so they both showed up to offer you kind words. They even pulled you out of the crowds of people and out into the dark, sitting down on an abandoned bench with you to wait for you to calm down.

They don’t actually get to know what the problem is, even though they ask once or twice, but they don’t seem to mind that. They’d rather you just feel better, though Kanaya said that if someone had done something that she’d be perfectly willing to slice them in half as payback.

That made you laugh.

You doubt that Kanaya would be able to get so much as a punch in on Cronus, but maybe she’d surprise you.

They sat on either side of you, each of them holding one of your hands. Eventually they left you alone, partially on your request. Though you could hear Kanaya’s stomach growling and wanted to let her go get a bit more to eat.

When the two ladies left you, you stayed on the bench. You felt that you needed a bit of time to yourself.

Unfortunately, that time did not last long. Shortly after the girls leave, someone plops down next to you on the bench, leaning over to look at your face while grabbing for one of your hands.

Upon looking up, you see Cronus.

He looks concerned. His brows are furrowed and his eyes search your face for something, though you don’t know what.

“Why did you leave me?” You mumble, focusing your own eyes on his nose. Eye contact really isn’t your thing.

“What’d’ya mean? I didn’t leave you,” he pauses, “Well, I did leave you, but I told you where I was goin’. Didn’t you hear the motorcycles? I was makin’ sure it wasn’t my brother coming to stir up shit. Worried he might’ve found out about this whole thing you’ve got going on here.”

Now that Cronus has explained, or you guess re-explained everything to you, you don’t feel so bad. You blame the alcohol for blurring out those details, and when you say something about it he agrees.

“Why didn’t you come back earlier?” You ask, voice still a bit unsteady from being emotional and tipsy.

“I thought you’d still be in the bathroom, so I checked there. Walked in on some guy shitting out his guts. Had to recover from that. Asshole couldn’t even lock the door,” he gave a little laugh, looking around and squeezing your hand after verifying that nobody was watching the two of you, “Then when I actually found you, you were with other people. Didn’t think you’d want me to interrupt.”

It makes you feel a lot better to know that Cronus didn’t just purposely leave you behind. He was trying to protect you. He was looking out for you instead of just letting you get beat up by someone half your size.

“Thank you,” you pull his hand up towards your mouth and kiss his knuckles.

“Don’t mention it,” Cronus smiles, leaning back against the bench and resting his head on your shoulder. He’s not that much shorter than you, but he’s slouched down enough that it appears to be comfortable for him.

A moment of comfortable silence passes between the two of you. There’s time for both of you to just think, not worrying much about getting caught.

“Does anyone know?” Cronus speaks up, his voice soft and smoother than usual.

“Know what?” You ask.

“What happened with us.”

You sigh. You don’t know if or when you’ll be telling anyone what happened, but you owe Cronus some kind of answer.

“The girls know that I’m… into men, but not what happened,” you shrug slightly before remembering that Cronus’ head is on your shoulder.

He gives a bit of a nod, confirming that he was listening and heard you. His hand squeezes yours just before a drunk man comes stumbling out into the darkness, prompting both you and Cronus to scramble away from each other in a very suspicious manner.

Thankfully, the man doesn’t seem to notice you, and he only gets a few feet away from the party before someone calls him back and he turns around like nothing ever happened.

Cronus laughs, but you sit still with your arms around yourself, still in a state of panic.

It’s only a moment before the Ampora takes notice, sliding closer to you on the bench once again and placing a hand on the nape of your neck. He slides his rough hand up into your hair, playing with the curls that always refused to lay flat in the back. You feel that if this isn’t just a one night thing, you’re going to grow to love that gesture.

Your head tilts back against his hand, trying to increase the contact.

“Nobody has to know if you don’t want them to. Nobody knows I like guys, and only two girls know you do. Girls are better at keeping secrets anyway. It won’t get out,” he pressed his lips to your temple, those feeling very soft in contrast to his calloused hands.

As depressing as it is to have to hide such a big part of yourself, both you and Cronus know that you have to. You know what could happen if you didn’t, and neither of you want that. It will have to stay a secret for now.

“I used to have a crush on your brother but I don’t think I do anymore,” you blurt out, your almost nonexistent filter failing you as usual.

A snort comes from Cronus, “Understandable. He did sort of threaten to kick your ass. I wouldn’t like him either. Little man is just like our dad.”

You’re left to assume that the Ampora’s father is an angry man, but you don’t ask about him. Now isn’t really the time.

“You know what?” Cronus said, “Later tonight I’ll tell the little punk that I saw you kissing a girl here. Get him off your back. Tell him I’ve never seen a girl so hot. Must’ve been some Mexican that came up for the party and to see her boyfriend. How’s that sound?”

You nod. You don’t exactly like that explanation, but you’d rather have Eridan thinking that you have a girlfriend back home than thinking you’re a flaming homosexual. That could prevent a whole lot of unneeded violence.

Looking at the watch on his wrist, Cronus sighs, “I don’t wanna have to leave again, but I gotta. If I don’t get home before one my dad will be on my ass about it all week.”

He stands, his hand falling away from your hair. He lets it rest on your shoulder while he leans down.

You tilt your head back, looking up at him curiously.

“You won’t freak out if I kiss you again, will you?” He smiles down at you, amused.

You shake your head, but you don’t give him a verbal answer. By the time you respond his lips are too close to yours to get a proper word out anyway.

The kiss is soft and slow, very unlike what you recall the first one in the bathroom being. You guess he must have been a little tipsy then too, and probably had a lot of pent up, teenage, sexual tension going on just like you. Hormones are your worst enemy.

Cronus pulls away after a few seconds, not wanting to risk being seen. His eyes stay closed longer than yours, and he starts to turn to leave when he opens them. You grab his hand to stop him, using your free one to pull a purple and brown bracelet from your pocket. You hand it to him, closing his fingers around it.

“I made that for you. I don’t know why,” you look up to see him smiling down at his hand.

“Thanks,” Cronus pecks your forehead, waving as he starts his walk off to where his car probably is.

You watch him as he walks away, seeing him look down at the bracelet in his hand and slip it on while he walks. He disappears around a corner before long, and you lean back. The night has turned out better than you expected it would.

You let the cool wood of the bench press into your back as you watch the party from a distance, watching drunks stumble around and little kids chase each other. You smile to yourself as you look around, but your smile falls when you see your brother standing against a post and staring at you. You have no idea how much of that he saw, but he looks a little shocked.

It doesn’t take you long to stand up and practically sprint away, following the path that Cronus had taken not too long ago. Though the Ampora isn’t anywhere to be seen right now, you just want to get away. You wish he was still here with his perfectly clean car, pulling up next to you just to let you get in. You could speed down the highway holding hands, not caring about who could see.

But no, you are standing along the road in the dark by yourself, scared. What if your brother saw? What if he didn’t, and now he wants to know what made you run away?

Perhaps you should’ve stayed.

However, you don’t turn around, you instead just walk down the side of the road, your hands shoved into your pockets. You focus on the smooth fabric inside them, letting your thoughts about it drown out all the scary ones.

***

Concrete is not a comfortable surface, and it likely never will be. You doubt that it is even comfortable when it’s wet. Though right now it really isn’t comfortable.

You can’t exactly piece together what led to you being laid out on the side of the road, or what caused your head to bleed, but you do vaguely remember worrying about drunk drivers after a police car drove by. This leads you to believe that you were hit.

You groan as you sit up, pushing yourself a bit further off the road to avoid being hit again. The street isn’t very busy, but anything can happen. No need to risk it.

Luckily, there isn’t a ton of blood pooled on the street, and from what your lightheaded vision allows you to see, you aren’t broken. If anything is broken, it is your nose. It aches and you can feel the little line of drying blood on your lip. Maybe you should have stayed instead of running away.

From what you can remember, there’s a gas station nearby. Said gas station should have a pay phone, and you should have a nickel or two in your pocket. You just need to get there and call someone to pick you up.

No headlights come from either direction as you stand and start down the road. You don’t want any to. You’d rather not have to deal with someone pulling over and asking if you’re okay.

***

“Can you connect me to the Amporas?” you spoke into the payphone, listening to the slightly staticy voice on the other end. The operator put you on hold for a moment, but soon enough you could hear the phone ringing in your ear.

You have a few reasons to be a bit scared. If someone other than Cronus answered, you don’t know what you’d say. And what if Cronus answered but didn’t want to help you? You don’t have many other friends that would be near a phone.

“Hello?” A low rough voice answers the phone and you panic.

You clear your throat, putting on the lowest voice you can muster up, “Can I talk to Cronus?”

You’ve seen a few of Cronus’ friends before, and they seem like the type to have voices like that.

The man on the other end seems to buy it, though he doesn’t let it go that easily. “Ain’t it a little late, kid-- whatever, he just pulled in anyway.”

You sigh, listening to the phone being passed off to Cronus with the explanation of “one of your friends calling”. Cronus fumbles with his phone and grumbles something to who you assume is his dad.

“Which one of you is it this time?” Cronus sounds annoyed, probably receiving plenty of calls from friends late at night.

“Tavros,” you catch yourself mumbling, but that’s practically just how you talk. A mess of slow, jumbled letters.

“Oh- shit, hey! What’re you doing calling?” You can hear the smile in his voice, but you can also imagine him looking back to see if his father was still around.

“Can you come pick me up?” Your voice cracks as you swipe at the dried blood on your lip, wanting the crusty feeling to be gone.

“Where are you?” the younger Ampora’s voice has changed from happy to concerned. The voice crack probably caused that.

You tell Cronus where you are and he assures you that he’ll be there soon, claiming to be leaving right when he hangs up. He tells you to stay put, so you do. You sit down on the sidewalk outside of the long since closed gas station. Your legs stretch out, allowing you to notice a big rip in the knee of your pants.

You poke at the hole in the fabric your finger going through and touching a scabbed up knee. How you didn’t notice that earlier is beyond you.

Now you just wish you had a mirror so you could see the damage done. You don’t think to just look in the dark windows of the gas station.

Instead, you just sit on the curb, picking at your knee to distract from your throbbing nose and aching head.

You close your eyes at some point, opting out of the visual aspect of life for the time being. Sometimes seeing can be too much for you. You don’t know why, but something about seeing everything move can just be overwhelming.

You allow yourself to tune out, sitting there in the quiet of the night. The only noises that you hear are the wind blowing trees, occasional cars on the road, and a bird chirp every so often.

“Tav, hey,” Cronus slams his car door shut before you even realize he had pulled up. 

He came forward, kneeling in front of you and placing a hand on your jaw. He looked at your nose, then your forehead, and even your lips.

“Who did this to you?” He sounded defensive, like he wanted to do the same thing to the culprit. Luckily, that wasn’t possible.

“I think a car,” you mumble as always, but he understands you.

“Dammit, Nitram,” he snorts out a laugh, moving his hands up to your nose. Without warning he presses on it, popping it back into place. You didn’t even know it was broken. You yelp at the sudden pressure and pain, but it resides quickly enough that you’re okay. You look at Cronus and he uses the sleeve of his leather jacket to swipe some of the blood off of your forehead. You also didn’t realize that was there.

“Let’s go get you cleaned up, okay? Eridan ain’t gonna be home tonight. Told me to cover for him while he snuck out. Don’t have to worry about him,” Cronus stood, offering you a hand. He seemed to sense that you didn’t want to go home, but to be fair anyone that knows you would know that if you had a problem the first person you’d run crying to would be your dad. The fact that you didn’t must have been enough for him to figure things out.

Taking his hand, he pulls you from the sidewalk. He holds onto you until you’re comfortably sat in his passenger seat, and when he gets in on the driver’s side he takes your hand yet again.

You never expected the tough, elder Ampora to be so into romantic gestures that weren’t just sex. That’s all his reputation said about him.

He took off out of the parking lot and down the street keeping his eyes on the road, though you could see him glance over at you on occasion.

“Thank you,” you say with a sigh.

“Don’t thank me for helping a guy I like after he got hit by a car,” Cronus laughed, looking over at you with a smile.

“Okay,” you allow yourself to laugh too, letting go for once.

The ride to the Ampora household is otherwise silent, both of you tired and worn out. It doesn’t take long to arrive, pulling into the driveway of the house that’s much bigger than your own. Cronus sighed, pulling the key out of the ignition and stuffing it into his pocket.

He pushed open his door and you followed suit. You followed him up to the door, watching as he pushed it open and stepped inside. He expected you to follow, so you did, quietly closing the door behind you.

You can see his dad sitting in front of a television as you pass the living room, and since Cronus says nothing, neither do you. You stay silent as you climb the stairs, trying your best to keep your feet in time with his so that it wouldn’t sound like there were two of them.

Maybe Cronus’ dad doesn’t want anyone over, or maybe Cronus doesn’t want to be seen with you. Either way you understand.

Immediately, Cronus leads you to a bathroom upstairs. It’s there that you figure out that while Cronus is into cute hand holding and kissing, his reputation for wanting to get laid is true. You aren’t sure how many times he asks you if you’d like him to shower with you, or to stay in the room “just in case”, or even just to help you take your shirt off. You can only imagine how high his libido must be.

You eventually manage to shoo him out of the room, locking the door behind him just to make sure.

It takes you a few minutes to figure out how to work the shower, and after that it also takes you awhile to get out of your clothes, since you insist on folding them neatly and stacking them in order of largest to smallest on the edge of the sink.

You step into the warm shower with a sigh, focusing first on scrubbing off any blood that still calls your body a home. It only takes you a moment to determine what soap you want to use. There’s two different sets. One that you immediately recognize as Eridan’s thanks to the big “LUX” carved onto the top of the bar. Go figure Eridan would use women’s soap. That would explain why he smelled like lavender.

Your other option is a bar with nothing on it, smelling much more masculine.

You use that one. You’d rather not have to hang around Cronus and smell like his brother. That’d be a little weird.

Bathing with all of Cronus’ soaps is sort of nice. You get used to the smells, and get rid of the layer of Day of the Dead grime you built up throughout the night.

You let your hair hang in your face while you rinse it out, watching the water run from the ends of it. It makes you wonder if maybe the rain is something similar. Some giant, extraterrestrial being washing their hair.

Maybe hurricanes are just what happens when they flush their toilets.  
You feel like you should get out of the shower before you drift too far into the realm of stupid thoughts.

Flipping off the shower, you push the curtain open and grab the towel Cronus had so kindly laid out for you. You dry your hair first, ruffling it under the towel until your arms hurt. You don’t bother brushing it out, just moving on to drying the rest of your body. You slip your underwear from earlier back on, though don’t do the same with anything.

Instead you just wrap the towel around your shoulders and step out into the hallway.

Something tells you that Cronus had been listening and waiting for you to finish showering, as he steps out into the hallways at the same time that you do. He places a white t-shirt in your hands, smiling at you.

“It’s one a’ mine. Should fit you okay,” he places his hands on his hips confidently.

You think he might be underestimating your size, considering he’s a few inches shorter than you and not as broad, and his shirts fit him snugly. You’ll give it a try anyway.

Hesitantly, you pull the towel off your shoulders and hand it to Cronus. The t-shirt doesn’t look too incredibly small, but you still have your doubts. You pull your arms through the sleeves, ignoring Cronus’ blatantly obvious stares. Slipping your head through and pulling the shirt down is easy, but it really is a size too small. You look at Cronus, and he shrugs.

“I mean, I could always just go grab one a’ Pop’s shirts for you, but then you’d smell like him and I wouldn’t be as into it,” he stepped forward, draping the towel over his shoulder so that his hands were free to be placed on your chest.

“Cronus-” Your voice catches in your throat, leaving you feeling kind of dumb. “I don’t really want to do… that.”

“Do what?” Cronus asks innocently, but you’re pretty sure he knows what you’re talking about.

You lower your voice to a whisper reflexively, “The sex thing.”

That sends Cronus into a fit of laughter, but from what you’re unable to tell. Maybe it was the way you phrased it, or that you’d even suggested that he would want to in the first place.

He presses his head into your shoulder, hiding his face in an attempt to calm himself down. He wraps his arms around your middle, his fingers touching bare skin thanks to the too-small shirt. It rode up just enough in the back to allow that.

The more you think about why he’s laughing, the less you understand it, and the more you feel like he’s just laughing at you. It is not a good feeling, so while his chest twitches against yours from laughter, yours starts to tremble. You start thinking about things that you shouldn’t, like what he’d do if he ever saw you break down like you did at home, or if he’d still like you if he knew that you hated hearing people put on rubber gloves to the point that it could make you scream.

You aren’t sure when exactly you start crying, but it’s somewhere between Cronus leaning on you and you pushing him off and curling in on yourself.

You’re sure you look ridiculous. Such a big guy crouched down on the floor, wearing a shirt that’s too small, in his underwear, crying.

Apparently Cronus does care at least a little, as he gets on his knees in front of you and runs a hand through your hair.

“Hey, Tav, you’re fine. I didn’t mean whatever I did,” he shushes you, “Calm down big guy, let’s get you to my room. It’s late, you should probably just get to sleep.”

It takes him a minute to get you up off of the floor and walking, but he hooks his arm under yours and walks you all the way down the hall to his bedroom. He sits you on the corner of his bed, standing in front of you and placing his hands on your cheeks. His fingers brush over the stubble of your soon-to-be sideburns, but he doesn’t seem to mind.

Cronus acts incredibly patient with you, standing there in silence and rubbing his thumbs in slow circles along your cheekbones. Once your sniffling calms down and you’re just sitting there, eyes closed, red, and puffy, he presses his forehead against yours.

“Eridan told me that you do stuff like that,” he slid his hands up into your hair, combing out some of the damp curls with his fingers, “He said that he talked to people about you, and they all said you act weird. You do act weird. I ain’t gonna deny that, but I also ain’t gonna just leave some poor, sniffling Mexican laying on my floor cause I think he’s weird. Got it? I’m not as weird as you, but I’m weird too, so I’m just gonna roll with this and see what happens. Not gonna be the ass that’ll beat you up in the hallways just because I feel like it.”

You take a moment of silence to apologize to whatever celestial being Cronus may believe in. The greaser curses like a sailor, you’ve noticed, and from all the religious people at school you’ve heard, that isn’t a good thing. You’re only really supposed to say one when you’ve stubbed your toe or something.

You huff out a sigh, pushing Cronus away gently so you could pull the tight shirt off. You didn’t need to be uncomfortable anymore. Instead of staring at you this time, Cronus takes the shirt and tosses it aside to a pile of clothes next to a dresser, instructing you to lay down.

You do so, content with laying on the soft cotton sheets on his large bed. You scoot over against the wall, your back facing the rest of the room, and close your eyes.

You go to sleep that night in a comfortable state, having extra body heat to keep you warm and cozy, and another pair of legs brushing up against your own every so often.

It is undoubtedly one of the best night's sleeps you’ve ever had.


	9. Chapter 9

Skin rubs against your own in the morning when you’re woken up by people yelling downstairs. You can clearly identify the problem as being that someone walked in the front door at six in the morning when they were supposed to be home all night.

It isn’t until you hear a familiar voice that you remember that Cronus had been covering for Eridan while he snuck out.

It also isn’t until you hear someone stomping up the stairs that you shake Cronus awake, putting a hand over his mouth as he starts to protest. You gave his sleepy brain a moment to wake up and process the sounds around him, and soon enough he was scrambling out of his bed and locking his door.

You send a silent thank you to the people who built the house for putting a lock on that specific door.

You sigh out to yourself, relieved when you see the doorknob jiggling but not turning.

“Open th’ door you prick!”

Eridan Ampora, the man that you are, or maybe were in love with, is standing right outside that door while you’re half naked in his brother’s bedroom. The very Ampora that called you a freak for blushing when he got close to you, the one that thinks you’re a flaming homosexual, right outside.

Cronus puts on an act, like he didn’t expect Eridan. He moves away from the door.

“What the hell?! Leave me alone, I’m busy!” He sat down in a chair in front of a desk.

“Busy doin’ what?! Jackin’ it?” Eridan clearly had just as much of a filter when he was mad as you did all of the time.

“Yeah,” Cronus responded, “I am.”

With that, Eridan made a sound similar to vomiting and you could hear his footsteps go down the hall, presumably to his own room. You look at Cronus, who spins the chair around and looks at you, waggling his brows. You bring a finger up to your lips, signalling to stay quiet. There isn’t really much of a reason to anymore, but you’d rather it be that way for now.

He nods, standing up and coming over to the bed. He sits on the edge of it, but you just lay back down from where you’d pushed yourself up onto your elbow. Half of your face is stuffed into the pillow, but with one eye open you look up at him. Once again, you focus on his nose more than his eyes.

Cronus manages to stay silent, just looking down at you with a soft smile. You have no idea what he’s actually looking at, but you think he looks kind of cute while he’s doing it.

“I have to piss,” he whispers, making you snort and wrinkle your nose.

You let him kiss your cheek before he leaves the room, closing the door on his way out. You hear him go down the hall, and sooner than you’d like to you hear another set of footsteps. Slightly lighter ones at that. Before you have time to do anything more than duck your head under the blanket, a younger Ampora comes through the door. 

You can tell that he’s trying to be sneaky just by how little noise he makes. He goes around the room looking for something, not spending much time anywhere. Until he turns toward the bed.

You must look close enough to Cronus when you’re engulfed by the blanket that Eridan doesn’t question your existence. He instead just creeps towards the door, thinking that Cronus had never left the room.

For a second, you think that you’ll be okay. Until you hear the door open followed by a set of gasps.

“Wha-” Eridan spoke first, but Cronus quickly started pushing him out of the room, panicking and talking about how you were just a friend who crashed here overnight. Eridan seems to buy it, though he sounds suspicious. 

“Alright! Alright, chill. Don’t get your panties in a twist just cause I walked in on your friend,” he huffed, clearly further away now just from his voice.

“Get outta here, punk,” Cronus shut the door, locking it once again.

You peek out from under the blankets, watching Cronus run a hand down his face with a sigh. You can see your stack of clothes in his hand, and it makes you think that he’s going to make you leave. He turns towards you, gesturing for you to stand up.

It takes you a few seconds to force yourself out into the cold air and away from the blankets, but you manage. Upon standing, your clothes are handed to you.

“Get dressed. At least a shirt and pants. Dad’s making breakfast, and I’m making you eat.”

You shake your head. You don’t want to meet his dad, and you also don’t want to leave his room until Eridan is out of the house again.

“Come on, it’s food. Dad’s a good cook too. You’ll like it,” he tries to give you his own, more masculine version of the classic puppy dog eyes. It doesn’t work.

Instead of shaking your head this time, you just stand there. You stare down at him like he spoke a foreign language and you didn’t understand, though you clearly did. He nudges your shoulder with the heel of his hand, but you don’t budge.

“Come on, Tav, what’s going on?” He nudges you again, “You gotta answer me.”

You continue staring at him, not responding. He wraps his arms around your waist, though the clothes that you still hold are preventing him from getting much closer. Cronus holds his own hands behind your back, practically begging you to answer him with his eyes.

“Are you scared that Eridan’s gonna see you?”

This time you actually give him a slow nod. You are scared of Eridan seeing you. Sort of terrified of that actually. You really don’t feel like getting beaten up in someone else’s house.

“Tav, baby, don’t worry your pretty little head. I’ve got you covered. If Eridan comes down and notices you, I’ll say that you didn’t realize we were brothers, and neither did I. We aren’t the same age so it’s not too out there to think that. Besides, Eridan knows better than to start anything in front of Dad. He’ll get himself in more trouble than he already is for sneaking out,” he smiled, “Plus, with that big gash on your head and your nose all swollen, we can just say I saw you and wanted to help you out.”

You have yet to see yourself in a mirror since showering, but now that you think about it, you doubt that you look too good. Your nose still hurts, which you assume is from it trying to fix itself, and you do have a headache. You wonder how bad you must look.

You gently push Cronus away, sitting your clothes down on the edge of his bed before grabbing your t-shirt from the pile and slipping it on. It makes you curious about if Cronus wanted his shirt not to fit, since you did have your own the whole time. You guess you’ll never know.

Unfortunately, you don’t have any pants. The ones you had been wearing were ripped across the knee, and when you unfold them you see that the side had met the same fate. Those will have to be fixed sometime when you have the money, but for now Cronus takes notice and leaves the room. You stand there, holding your pants and staring at the door. You don’t know what he left to do but he looked like he was on a mission.

While you wait for him to return you re-fold your pants, placing them back on the pile. You sit down on the bed again, and without thinking you open the drawer of his bedside table. Inside is what you’d expect to be in the drawer of a freshly-graduated man that still lives with his dad. There’s a bunch of junk, mostly. There’s a few condoms, which you just wrinkle your nose at, as well as a pack of cigarettes.

You grab the box, flipping the top open to see a half of a pack of unused cigarettes, one half smoked, and a red lighter shoved into the space that would otherwise be open. You’ve never smoked, and you’ve never seen Cronus doing it, but you know that he does. He and Eridan sometimes smell like it, so it’s always been pretty obvious. You’re curious as to why they like it.

Pulling one of the untouched rolls out of the package, you roll it between your fingers. You look it over, reading the word luckys printed just above the orange end. You squish the orange end, thinking about how it works.

Naturally, to really understand you have to light it. You pull the lighter out of the box, switching it over to your left hand so you can actually light it. You flick your thumb across the striker wheel, watching the flame for a moment after it appears.

You bring the cigarette to it rather than it to the cigarette, letting the things inside the roll light up. When you pull it away you watch the smoke twirl out from the end, intrigued by the patterns and the way it moves. For something that can sometimes smell so bad, it’s oddly beautiful.

You nearly drop everything when Cronus comes back into the room, a pair of pajama pants in hand. He looks at you, and then the cigarette, slowly closing the door.

“You smoke?” He asks, coming towards the bed and dropping the pants next to you.

You shake your head, still holding the cigarette as the ashes on the end get so long that they fall onto the floor between your legs. Since you apparently don’t know what you’re doing, Cronus takes it from you and puts it between his lips, holding it in the corner while he speaks.

“Just wanted to play with it, huh?” He pauses, smoke curling out of his nose, “It’s okay, I needed one anyway.”

Cronus sits down on the bed with you, looking across the room. “Dad knows you’re here, so now you gotta come down. Had to snag a pair of his pants for you.”

You sigh, nodding. You suppose you can try since you’re hungry anyway. You’ll need to leave soon too. Your dad is probably panicking back home and trying to figure out where you are. You’d feel bad if you left him not knowing much longer. Maybe you can call him.

“Hey,” Cronus puts his hand under your chin, turning your head to make you look at him, “You’re gonna be fine.”

***

“You look like a good kid,” Cronus’ dad sat himself down right across the table from you, making a pyramid with his hands as he looks you over.

“Thanks,” you mutter, pushing your biscuits and gravy around on your plate, not satisfied with the amount of pepper on it, or the fact that it isn’t what your dad makes.

Cronus sat right next to you, managing to look awkward about the situation while also stuffing his cheeks with bacon. He looked between you and his dad, waiting for the conversation to continue.

His dad spoke up again, “So you got hit by a car and called my son to help? How’d you get hit by a car in the first place, and how do you know Cronus?”

Great, he’s asking questions. You guess that you actually have to answer them if you want to be in good standing with him. You clear your throat, “I was walking home in the dark, and I know him from school last year.”

You take a bite of your biscuits, hoping that chewing your food will prevent some talking. You notice how soft the biscuits are, but the consistency of the gravy is just oddly grainy enough to make it not enjoyable to you. You swallow it regardless, too worried about offending the man across from you by doing anything else.

He watches you with intense eyes, which you’ve noticed look a lot like Cronus’. The two of them actually look very similar, so Eridan must look like his mom. While Cronus is big and broad, Eridan is a little smaller and more lanky. It’s like that with quite a few of their traits. Thick versus thin brows, blue eyes versus brown, etcetera.

“And why didn’t you tell me that we had a guest?” Cronus’ dad asked, turning to look at him.

“Didn’t think you’d care,” Cronus slurred, his cheek still stuffed full enough that he reminded you of a squirrel.

“You probably shoulda’ took him to the hospital if he got hit by a car, you know,” he rose a brow, looking back to you, “He should still go. I can’t believe you were stupid enough to let him sleep. What if he had a concussion? Could’a killed the poor kid. That ain't even to mention all his scratches. Bet you didn't even think to clean him up with alcohol.”

He takes a big bite of his biscuits, filling his cheeks much like Cronus has been doing, and stands up.

“Come on,” he waves you along as he starts over towards the sink, his mouth still full, “I’m not sending you home ‘till I fix my idiot son’s mistakes.”

You feel bad for Cronus, since it was one in the morning, you were both tired, and you both still had a trace amounts of alcohol in your system. You hadn't thought about any of that stuff either. Though Cronus doesn't seem phased, just continuing to eat his breakfast while you follow his father to the kitchen sink.

Just as you reach the sink, Cronus stands from his own chair and excused himself, claiming that he's going to take a shower and that he’ll be right back down. He's up the stairs faster than you're able to protest, so you don't. You instead stand in silence while Mr. Ampora, who briefly introduces himself as Darren, digs through cabinets above the sink in search of something.

He instructs you to take off your shirt, which you're hesitant about at first. He can see this, and explains himself.

“I was in the Navy a few years back during the war. Trust me, kid, I know what I'm doin’. I've helped take care of guys shot in the chest,” he brings a bottle of alcohol down from the cabinet, followed by some sort of salve. He goes to a drawer to grab a rag before standing in front of you.

Your shirt is slipped off over your head, but you keep hold of it. Darren looks you over, eyes stopping on the little bruise on your chest that is oddly similar to a set of drunken lips, and the one scratch on your hip that was hard enough not to fade away.

Darren just ignores both of those marks after noticing them, instead instructing you to turn around so he can look at your back. You jump when he runs his thumb over a place on your lower back where your shirt must have ridden up when you were presumably hit. It's mostly just a scab at this point, but Darren still makes a point of soaking one corner of the rag in alcohol and pressing it against that area. You squeeze at your shirt when it starts to burn.

He lets you know that you can put your shirt back on when he's done with that, looking down at your legs for a few seconds.

“Are those my pants?” He wrinkles his nose, which you notice is sort of an Ampora habit.

You shrug, not knowing how to respond that despite knowing the answer. “Mine ripped so he gave me these.”

With a nod, Darren sighed, “Any scratches on your legs then?”

The short exchange led to you rolling up your pants legs and letting him clean off your knees, one looking considerably worse than the other. He put some of the salve on that one and wrapped it up in a bandage that he had to make a quick trip to his bathroom to get.

You'll admit that you were a bit amazed to hear that they had two bathrooms. You've lived in a ratty old trailer for so long that you've forgotten about some basic luxuries such as that.

You keep the one pant leg rolled up, not wanting to knock the bandages down. Darren leans against the counter next to you, crossing his arms over his chest. Your hands are slipped into your pockets, looking down at the floor.

Darren clears his throat, making you look over at him, expecting him to say something.

“So you got a girlfriend?” He raises a brow, glancing your way.

Without thinking you shake your head, only remembering the mark on your chest after you already answered him. He’ll just have to assume whatever he will assume about you. You can’t exactly tell him that his son did that to you. You doubt he'd take that well.

“Huh,” he nods, “Makes sense. You strike me as the good kid that would rather study than worry about girls. Is that the case?”

Even though that isn't what your situation is, you just tell him it is. It's easier for everyone that way.

“You'll be a good influence on Cro. That boy is always getting himself into trouble. Do me a favor and keep him away from those Makara boys for me. The last thing I need him mixed up in is drugs. Don't even know where they get them, but I don't want him involved.” Darren sticks a hand out as if wanting to shake yours. You place yours in his, shaking it firmly before shoving it right back into your pocket.

You don't know what prompts the next comment that he makes, but it quite frankly scares the shit out of you.

“You also kind of strike me as the type to like it up the ass,” he scratches the stubble on his jaw as he goes back to the table to clean up the dishes.

You guess that he is just a very blunt man, and now you see where Cronus gets his sailor's vocabulary. It was just meant to be that way. Like father like son.

You fail to answer him on that one, just keeping a poker face as your eyes bore into the floor. You feel as if you've dug a metaphorical hole right through the tile, and it's just small enough that you can't jump in and disappear into it. You really hope that Cronus doesn't take forever in the shower. You can't take much longer being awkward with his dad.

He brings the dishes to the sink and rinses them off, glancing over at you every few seconds. After a few minutes he realizes something.

“You're the kid that punched the quarterback aren't you? Heard all about that from my younger boy. Said you saved him a beating,” he smiled, “You do that often?”

Stupidly, you don't give any response. You just stand there, still staring at the floor. You're focused on the patterns in the tile. White and black checkers like a diner. The longer you stare, the more they seem to twist and rearrange themselves, and the more they twist the brighter the whites seem. It starts to hurt your eyes, and you tune out whatever Darren says to you next.

You actually tune out everything other than the feeling of teetering over away from Darren.

The air that surrounds you when you start to fall feels surprisingly soft compared to the corner of the counter that your head hits.


	10. Chapter 10

Uncomfortable polyester sheets hug you from all angles, and you don’t like it.

Polyester is much too rough for your liking. You don’t know why anyone would like it, even if it looked nice. How bad it feels should be enough to counter that.

However, it is not.

“Dad, I think he’s wakin’ up,” you hear, your eyes still closed against the brightness of the world. You aren’t ready to be up yet.

“Well leave him the hell alone, dimwit. You wouldn’t want someone all over you if you got a bunch a’ stitches in your head,” you hear a slapping sound, followed by a little grumble.

“Well it ain’t my fault he passed out,” the first voice responds.

“It sort of is, actually.”

From the sound of it, it’s Cronus and his Dad. That doesn’t surprise you, but you assume that by now they’ve probably contacted your own dad or your brother. You wonder if your dad went off to work today or not. You hope he did. Heaven knows you need the money. You barely had enough for bills last month after getting groceries.

Out of curiosity, you crack your eyes open, mainly just wanting to know the time. You’re practically blinded by the light pouring in from a nearby window. Cronus must notice you wrinkle in your nose and squeeze your eyes shut because you hear him get up and slide the blinds closed. He sits back down, though his dad is closer to you than he is. 

Your eyes open again, taking a long few moments to stare up at the ceiling and get used to seeing again. Within a few seconds, Cronus is leaning over you, looking down at your eyes. He keeps a considerable distance for obvious reasons. You two are in the presence of his father, and if Cronus did anything that could be considered gay you're not sure he would ever see you again.

“You okay there, Tav?” He put a hand on your shoulder, patting it lightly, “You took a fall and busted your head open. You’re lucky Pops knows what he’s doing.”

“You wouldn’t believe the hell Eridan raised when he saw you. Don’t know what got into that kid, but he just about got himself arrested. Cro actually threatened to call the cops. I didn’t think it was that big a deal, but he got all bothered about it,” Darren laughed.

“Shut up, Dad,” Cronus glared at him over his shoulder before looking back down at you, pointing to your temple, “You ended up with seven stitches right here. You fell pretty hard. I was scared your brain would slip right outta your head.”

Cronus laughed, but you just stared up at him, he stopped after a minute. “What?” He asked, and was then interrupted by his dad.

“We called your house. Your brother was the only one home and he said he was on his way,” turning your head to look at him, you see him sitting calm and collected, legs crossed, reading the morning’s newspaper. You didn’t even know that they had those in hospitals. Maybe he brought it from home.

“You don’t speak Spanish do you?” You ask both of them, voice sounding a little low and groggy from having not used it for awhile.

Both of the men shake their heads no, which you’re thankful for. You know that your brother will barge in, making a big scene and yelling in Spanish. You can just talk to him that way and nobody will know what you’re saying. It sounds like a good plan, though you don’t know what you’re going to talk about yet.

“Good,” you bring a hand up and wipe your nose, feeling like it was running. Whether or not it actually was or not is unknown.

Cronus looks confused at your response, but Darren looks unphased. He probably knows what to expect. At least somewhat, anyway.

Cronus sits himself down on the edge of your bed, grabbing your arm to help you sit yourself up when you do so. You see him stare at your hand. He knows better than to grab it to help you, but he’s still tempted. You’re done sitting yourself up before he has the chance to do so though.

He sighed, putting his hands on his knees to keep them occupied. “We called your brother fifteen minutes ago, so he should be here soon.”

You nod, brushing your hair off of your forehead and away from the stitches on the side of your face. Your dad is going to be pissed about whatever bills you have to pay for this. You don’t have any sort of insurance, and you’re sure that it’s going to cost more than it actually should. That’s all you’ve ever heard about hospital bills.

There’s three quick knocks at your hospital door, but no hesitation before the door opens and your brother practically flies into the room. He starts off with yelling something in Spanish so fast that even you, the one fluent in it, can’t understand it.

Cronus is pushed off the bed and onto his dad, who just heaves a sigh and pushes him back off into the chair he previously sat in. Rufioh grabs your shoulders, peppering sweet, brotherly kisses all over your face. He then keeps his hands on your cheeks instead, babying you over the stitches you’ve gotten, and how bruised your nose still looks from last night. You answer him, explaining what you know and what you don’t, and expressing how stressed you currently are about the bills.

Rufioh tells you not to worry about that and to instead worry about getting better. You suppose he’s probably acting like it’s a bigger deal than it actually is because you ran away and you are, as your dad would put it, sensitive. He informs you that your dad is at work but he’ll call home as soon as he gets off. He needs to know what happened too.

Cronus stands, moving to stand next to Rufioh, “What are you guys even saying?”

Rufioh just puts his hand over Cronus’ mouth, silently telling him to shut it while he keeps talking to you. He asked all sorts of questions while Cronus shied away from his hand. He asked how you were feeling, where you stayed overnight, and then the dreaded question. What were you doing with Cronus before you ran off.

You stare at him for a second before simply telling him that you were kissing him. When he asks why, you tell him that you had a few drinks, and it felt like the right thing to do at the time. Then he continues with questions about why you came to Cronus for help, to which you answer by telling him that you trusted him, and everyone else you knew was at the party.

He sighs, nodding. He turned to Cronus, beckoning him forward. He stepped an inch or two towards him, swallowing nervously. Rufioh grabbed him by the collar, pulling him close enough that he could whisper something to him. Whatever he said made Cronus’ eyes widen, looking at you. You shrug, knowing that your brother probably just said something to scare him into treating you right like he had said he would do to any girl you picked up.

You’re surprised that he didn’t just freak out as soon as you admitted to kissing a guy, but you’re happy at the same time. You’d rather not have to deal with that.

Darren stands, standing between your brother and Cronus, draping his arms around both of their shoulders. He looks at you, “I don’t know what just happened or what was said, but while you were asleep Cronus informed me of your financial situation. He actually wouldn’t shut up about it. I’m pretty sure he was tryin’ to hint at something. So, since you ended up in the hospital from what happened in my house, I’ve decided that I’m going to pay the hospital bill for you.”

Both you and your brother stare at him in awe. Being hispanic, you hardly ever get any random acts of kindness like that other than people holding doors for you. Cronus seems unphased, just grinning at you. He wanted that to happen.

Rufioh latches onto the bigger man, shoving his face into his chest and happily yelling something. He gets over excited over some of the simplest things, and stays calm when big things happen. This is just an exception. He was probably up for most of the night worrying about you.

Darren wrinkles up his nose, slowly pushing Rufioh away. He doesn’t seem too fond of affection, or maybe it’s just contact in general. Rufioh looks at you with a wide smile on his face, you respond with one of your own. He leans down and hugs you, not caring that you don’t do the same.

“Cronus,” your brother says, his accent thicker than your own, “Thank you.”

Cronus shakes his hand, holding on longer than he needs to, “Can I talk to you in the hallway?”

That worries you. You don’t know what he wants to talk about, or if it’s good or bad.

***

Being left alone with Darren Ampora is awkward. Very, very awkward. You’ve learned over the short time you’ve spent with him that he’s a man of few words unless he wants to be otherwise. If he has a point to make he might as well be the entire Frankenstein novel, but otherwise, he’s pretty quiet.

That, for obvious reasons, doesn’t bode well for you as you are a man of few words too.

Darren sits back down in his chair after the boys left the room, looking over at you in silence. You avert your eyes, nervous. It feels like he’s trying to read into you, figuring out what kind of person you are and if it should matter to him. It takes more effort than it should for you to keep your mouth shut.

“Tavros,” he says, startling you enough to make you jump. This gets a small laugh out of him.

“Tavros is Greek, ain’t it? For bull?”

You shrug. You don’t know anything about where your name came from. You just know that your mom and dad chose it for you, or maybe even just your dad. You don’t even know who picked it.

“If you couldn’t tell, us Amporas are Greek. I’m the only one from Greece, but it’s our heritage. Moved out here to America when I was seven, way back in 1913. Tried to get the boys to care but they didn’t,” he looks around the room as he talks, which allows you to look at him yourself.

You have no idea why he’s telling you this. Perhaps he’s just trying to make conversation.

“Why do you have a Greek name if you’re Spanish?” He questions, “Even your brother has a Spanish name.”

You shrug once again, trying to make sure that he notices since he isn’t looking your way.

“Weird,” he wrinkles his nose.

That’s all he has to say for now. He scratches at his eyebrow, trying to get comfortable in the tiny hospital chair. With a huff, you sit yourself up higher and swing your legs over the edge of the bed, delighted to see that even though they took off your shirt and replaced it with a hospital gown, they let you keep your pants on. Or rather, Darren’s pants. You find it a bit odd that you’re wearing his pants.

“Did they tell you when I can leave?” You mumble, head angled towards the floor.

“They said whenever you woke up you could go, so long as you felt fine,” he stands up, seemingly taking that as a signal that it was time to go.

“They don’t wanna do any tests on me or anything?”

Darren laughs, shaking his head, “Cronus told ‘em not to.”

You sigh, unsure. Your want to go home overpowers your worries about something being wrong with you though, so you go along with it.

Standing, you give yourself a few seconds to adjust to gravity before taking a step to get away from the bed. Darren scoots his legs towards himself to allow you more room to move.

“I like you, kid,” Darren startles you again, making you begin to dislike his way of suddenly talking.

“Why?” You ask.

“You’re good, I can tell, and you’ll be good for Cro. He’s been getting in with some bad people lately. Hoping you can turn him around. He needs a good, straightlaced friend,” he stands up, grabbing your shirt from a nearby counter and handing it to you.

You sigh, laying it on the end of the bed while you take off the gown.

“So what made you call Cronus out of all people after getting hit by a car?”

You slip your shirt on, more focused on the way the cotton feels hugging you once again than how you answer his question.

“We made out in a bathroom during a Day of the Dead party,” you say it so simply, like nothing is wrong with it. You don’t even realize your error until Darren doesn’t respond.

You turn to him, actually looking him in the eyes for a moment, just long enough for him to ask, “What?”

You don’t put much thought into running out of the room and straight into Rufioh and Cronus, muttering and stumbling over your words as you try to piece together what you just did. You grab their arms, trying your hardest to uproot them from the ground and yank them down the hall, but Rufioh stays put. Cronus actually starts moving, but stops once he realizes that your brother isn’t.

You lean into Cronus’ ear, whispering a quick explanation to him. Basically, you just tell him that you accidentally told his dad that the two of you made out.

That’s all it takes for Cronus to aid you in pulling Rufioh along. His way of doing so just involves a lot more vulgarity. Rufioh follows along behind you, allowing himself to be led out of the hospital. He makes you and Cronus stop once you reach the doors, demanding to know what happened. It’s understandable, but it still makes you panic. 

You can feel imaginary sets of eyes on you, and it makes you feel small and huge all at the same time. Your breath catches in your throat, and when Rufioh looks at you he can see it. It’s happened often enough that he knows what’s going to happen, or at least what’s most likely to happen. It really shouldn’t happen in a public place, considering that you’re trying your hardest to avoid being thrown into an asylum.

He grabs your hand, pulling you out the door and through the parking lot, towards his car. Cronus follows along cluelessly, vaguely aware of your ragged breathing. Rufioh leans you against the side of his car, which is far enough away from the building for you to be satisfied. He puts his hands on your flushed cheeks, tilting your head down. He tells you to close your eyes, so you do, but that doesn’t stop a whine from escaping your throat.

Rufioh shushes you, but that just prompts you to push him away, slide down the side of his car, and bring your hands up to cover your ears. Your eyes are squeezed so tightly shut that it begins to hurt, but you don’t do anything in the way of stopping.

Your hearing is muffled, but it’s still clear enough to hear Cronus freaking out and Rufioh trying to get him to calm down. It’s also clear enough to hear yourself yell, hurting your throat. You feel dizzy, which may be in part because of your uneven breathing.

Your head twitches back involuntarily, hitting the passenger door of your brother's car, and you can hear Rufioh trying to get Cronus to shut up. When you hit your head against the car again, you feel hands on you. You’re pulled away from the car and turned, your body longways next to it. Someone grabs your head, and someone else grabs your legs.

As they adjust, you can feel your head rested on a set of thighs, and someone sitting on your own. You writhe around, trying to get free from whatever sort of hold you’ve been put in, but someone grabs your hands.

You can feel rough fingers running through your hair, pausing every time you lift your head up, and then easing it back down.

Slowly, your breathing calms, then your muscles loosen, and eventually you even open up your eyes.

Looking up, you see Cronus looking down at you, his eyes trained on your own. It makes you uncomfortable to meet his eyes, but you can’t bring yourself to move them away. Cronus does it for you, he looks over to Rufioh, who is still sitting on your thighs.

“What the hell?” He breathes, sounding just as out of breath as you feel.

“Well,” Rufioh shrugs, “You got yourself involved with him, so don’t expect to be getting out of it just because he does this stuff.”

You take the few moments that they talk as a chance to look around. You feel very uncomfortable lying on the concrete between two parked cars in a hospital parking lot.

The denim of Cronus’ jeans catches a few strands of your hair, but you cannot bring yourself to care. It just makes you feel more alive. You don’t want to feel numb now.


End file.
